Spitting Fire
by ellesmer.joe3
Summary: (Part 2 of my Aubrey/Cas series, "Of Angels and Men", takes place during S06) Crowley wants Purgatory, torturing every Alpha he can find. And because Phoenixes are also large key factors to this, Aubrey and the Winchesters are forced to be on their constant guard. In the middle of it all, Aubrey stumbles upon a new dynamic they will have to consider in their dispute over Purgatory.
1. Chapter 1

**aaaand we're back! ^^**

**before you read this, you MUST MUST MUST read "Love and Sad Cherubs" first. it is imperative to your true understanding of the plotline! (you'll find it in my account.)**

**anyway, lil bit of a short chapter for the first chapter, but that will get better, i think, as this story progresses. :)**

**I DO NOT OWN SUPERNATURAL IN ANY WAY, ONLY MY OC - AUBREY MILLIGAN.**

* * *

Aubrey hated morgues. She really did. Unfortunately, her job involved strolling into one at least five times a month. She didn't know why she hated it so much. She had stabbed monsters' eyes out, made heads roll; hell, she'd even cut someone—some_thing_'s tongue off. What was so frightening about morgues?

_The walls are white, and I _hate_ white—except when I'm wearing a cotton shirt. With that, I can make an exception._

It was quiet; too quiet, for her taste. She hated quiet as much as she hated white. And aside from that, the fact still remained that dead bodies were practically stored inside the walls. Who wouldn't find that completely disturbing? But, as she told herself time and time again, her job required her to journey into one every now and again, and the case she was working on called for exactly that.

She read the victim profile again. _Who the hell starts bleeding and turns into liquid, bloody mush in the ready room of a police department?_ Putting that together with how the bones and dense tissues turned into blood as well, Aubrey could safely say that that just wasn't normal.

The coroner who had come in with her cleared his throat, and she looked up, immediately asking, "Anything else out of the ordinary happen with any of the other officers?"

"Well…" The man thought for a moment, scratching his head. "There was this one guy. They brought him in just a few hours ago, _completely_ full of boils."

Aubrey gagged. "_Boils_?" She hated those too. "Full of, as in…"

"Covered from head to toe," the coroner stated. "In his throat, organs… Found some large ones in his stomach—"

She cut him off, holding her hand up to his face. With pursed lips, she forced out a smile. "And where'd you say he was found?"

"Dead in his patrol car outside of town, by a speed trap."

_Possibly a witch._ "Doesn't any of this seem odd to you?" she asked the coroner.

"Could have been an allergic reaction," he said, sighing. Aubrey raised her eyebrow at him and he shrugged. "Hell, we're all stumped."

"Fair enough." She exhaled. "Could you bring out the body, the one with the boils?" She took a large step back, pursing her lips as she didn't want to breathe in the toxic smell of Decomposing Body. The coroner slipped past her and opened the small door at the lower right of the metal wall. He pulled out the metal slab, and the acrid stench immediately filled the room, even though the body was still covered up with a white sheet. Aubrey wrinkled her nose, but otherwise remained professional. She didn't need the coroner questioning her expertise. "Thanks," she said as soon as it was completely out. "I'll take it from here."

Thankfully, he didn't question her, only nodding before walking out the door. Aubrey did not watch him leave, her eyes trained on the body in front of her. Reluctantly, she pulled the sheet down to his stomach, revealing his face and torso. As expected, they were covered in boils. She forced herself not to look away, focusing on his face. It was a bad idea, and she ended up staring at the floor. Witch business would have been possible. Police officers gained tons of enemies with the job they had. Officer Toby Gray could have easily killed a husband, or a son, or a brother, or a boyfriend. Witch would get angry and place a hex bag in the poor man's house… or car, since that was where he died.

Footsteps echoed down the hall outside, accompanied by two voices in conversation. Aubrey tensed and looked up.

Dean stepped into the room first, holding two files in one hand and his (fake) badge in the other. He was in his black suit and tie. Aubrey found that almost nothing had changed about him… physically. She found that odd considering that it'd been over a year since they'd last seen each other.

When another familiar face followed him through the door, she was speechless.

"Sam?"

_He's dead,_ she thought. _He's supposed to be dead._ But there he was, hair slicked back and as tall as she remembered him. He was wearing a black suit just like his brother, and Aubrey found the sight bringing back memories.

"Aubrey?" one of them gasped. She wasn't sure who. In a second, she had taken out her bottle of holy water—one she'd started keeping with her at all times for emergencies—and spilled the liquid onto the taller man's face. She held her breath, waiting for his skin to sizzle and boil, but nothing happened.

Sam pursed his lips and blinked, before wiping his face with his sleeve. "Yeah, okay, it's me."

She glanced at Dean, who was looking as surprised to see her as she was with Sam, but he grinned and nodded his head. Immediately, Aubrey threw herself to Sam, hugging him as tightly as he could. Her chin was pressed against his shoulder and her arms wound around him tight. She heard him groan against her and he shifted his legs, probably trying to balance himself. She laughed out loud before realizing that he _should not have been there_ with them.

Aubrey pulled away, albeit reluctantly, and looked him in the eye. "How are you back?" she demanded.

Sam sighed. "We don't know."

Aubrey peeked over his shoulder and found Dean puffing his cheeks. He shrugged his shoulders, and she looked back to Sam. "W—What are you guys doing here anyway? I thought _you'd_ retired." She nodded at Dean. Her thoughts were muddled up; she was barely able to form that sentence, as millions of questions flooded her brain, in need of answering.

"Working a case," Dean answered. "Same case you're working on, apparently."

"Apparently." Aubrey stepped away from Sam and crossed her arms, ignoring the fact that Dean had utterly evaded her question about his retirement. She chuckled lightly. "After we solve this—"

"We're going for a beer."

Aubrey grinned, looking at the older brother who had finished her statement for her. "Exactly."

* * *

Honestly, Aubrey liked Dean's car more than Sam's new one. She didn't know why. And that was why she laughed when Dean raced up from behind Sam's, beating him to the block. They both pulled up, Aubrey not too far behind. As much as she loved the boys, she didn't want to be involved in anything else with cars and accidents.

The boys stepped out of their cars at the same time, and closed their doors at the same time. Aubrey took her time parking hers (new as well) before stepping out, biting down the smile itching to show.

"Were you, uh…" Sam started as they strolled up the sidewalk. "Were you _racing_ me?"

"No," Dean said. "I was kicking your ass."

"Very mature, guys," Aubrey piped up from behind them. They both stopped to look at her, and she slipped past the two with ease. As much as she wanted to look serious, she was positive that she was smiling.

When they were up the steps and at the door, Dean knocked five times. "Hello? Officer Colfax!"

The 'witness' answered immediately. He opened the door, already in his officer uniform. Aubrey asked herself why it was that he hadn't headed out yet. His face was pale, not to mention beaded with sweat.

"Looking sharp, Kojak," she remarked, eyeing him warily.

His eyes were wide and bulging out from their sockets when he asked, "Who the hell are you?"

"We're the FED, Ed," Sam said as they took out their badges from their pockets. Aubrey smiled slightly at the obvious pun but kept her cool. Again, she didn't need to be compromised. Sam continued, "We're here to ask you a few follow-up questions about your partner's death."

Colfax shook his head. "Don't worry about it. It's nobody's business," he said, his voice shaky.

Aubrey smiled pleasantly, taking a single step forward. "Officer Colfax—"

"Don't worry about it!"

The door slammed shut in her face and she had to throw her head back so that her nose wouldn't get broken. She growled in frustration, pounding on the door a few more times though it was obvious that the officer wasn't going to answer. Beside her, Sam sighed; right before kicking the door open. Aubrey yelped, moving away. The door flew open and the younger brother strode inside, ignoring Dean's complaint. _What the hell?_ Sam had never been like that. Most of the time—actually, _all the time_, it was Dean bashing doors in and Sam complaining. What was up with the two?

She followed them inside, and was instantly greeted by picture frames on the walls. There wouldn't have been anything odd about them, except that the faces were white and completely scratched off. She was wondering why anyone would be pushed to do such a thing when they reached the end of the hall, where Colfax was sitting in his desk, scratching away at another one of his poor photographs.

"Officer Colfax?" Sam said, standing rigid beside her.

Aubrey stepped forward. "You alright?"

"Don't worry about it," Colfax replied, his voice totally void of emotion. He looked absolutely fixated by the picture he was scratching away at.

"Right," Dean drawled out. "Look, Officer Colfax—Ed." He raised his hand in a gesture of friendliness. "We think that your partner died of unnatural causes." He stopped and watched, frowning, as Colfax scratched his head, even though there was still a cop hat blocking it from his reach. Aubrey frowned, and Dean continued. "Did he have any enemies that you know of?"

Colfax sighed. "You might say that."

_Wow, that was the most intellectual answer we've heard with you, _Aubrey thought. "Oh yeah? Who's that?"

"They both had it coming," Colfax replied. "Me too." _And, back to square one._ "I'll be the next to go, and then it'll be over. And God will be satisfied." Aubrey froze.

"Why does _God_ want you all dead?" Dean asked.

Aubrey walked to the side of the desk and leaned over it, watching the officer place his cup down with scepticism. "'Cause of Christopher Birch," he answered. Just then, his bottle of alcohol (Aubrey thought it was whiskey) tipped over. Amazingly, it didn't roll to the side and fall. It stayed at its place, spilling its golden contents onto the floor.

Colfax groaned slightly. "Oh, dammit."

"Who's Christopher Birch?" Sam asked, but the officer only seemed to be half listening.

"He has no face," Colfax said. His eyes were trained on the bottle by the side of his desk, watching with disturbing fascination as the liquid poured out.

Sam stepped up. "Ed?"

No reply came, and Dean stepped forward as well. "Officer, you alright?"

That was when Colfax picked up the bottle and put it right side up again, though his eyes were glazed over, and Aubrey suspected that it wasn't because of the alcohol. "Who is Christopher Birch, Ed?" she repeated firmly, her eyes flickering to the bottle.

"Ed!" Sam said, raising his voice. Aubrey jumped at the sudden loudness, but was satisfied to know that they had once again caught the attention of their witness.

Colfax raised his chin slightly, but it didn't make him look any less ill. "Christopher Birch is a kid with no face," he said. "And a planted gun."

Aubrey licked her lips, and was just about to ask more of him when a trail of blood streamed down the side of his face. It came from inside his hat, and reached his jawline.

"Uh, you, uh…" Dean trailed off, frowning. He gestured to the man's cheek. "You got a little something…"

The officer's hand went up and he touched his cheek, exactly where the blood was. "Yeah," Dean finished.

They all watched as Colfax pulled his hand away. He stared at the blood on his fingertips, his eyebrows rising and a small smile on his face. "Damn," he said, sighing. "My head's been itching like a dirty jock."

_You don't know the half of it,_ Aubrey said to herself, but her thoughts were stopped dead on their tracks when the officer collapsed onto his desk, his hands beside him and the blood still running down his face. "Ed?" She started forward before placing her middle and forefingers on his neck. No pulse. "Dead," she confirmed, looking to Sam and Dean and pursing her lips.

They both sighed heavily, but the older brother tilted his head. "You hear that?" he said. Aubrey frowned, but concentrated, and true enough she heard the sound of buzzing.

It seemed to be coming from Ed, specifically from his head. Aubrey took a deep breath, already having a hunch on what they were going to find. Reluctantly, she pulled the hat off of Colfax's head. Right at the top, there was a gaping hole from where hair and skin and bone were supposed to be. Crawling out of the hole was a swarm of fully-grown locusts.

Aubrey looked away, groaning. "_That's_ disgusting." Sam and Dean nodded in agreement.

In the end, all of them decided it best to take some of the locusts as samples. They placed them in a jar, and for some reason Aubrey was afraid that they would break the glass, but the logical part of her knew that locusts weren't smart enough to do that. _Or are they?_ She shivered and shook the thought away, following the brothers out of the house.

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**reviews are always appreciated! :)**


	2. Chapter 2

***before you read this, you MUST MUST MUST read "Love and Sad Cherubs" first. it is imperative to your true understanding of the plotline! (you'll find it in my account.)**

**I DO NOT OWN SUPERNATURAL IN ANY WAY, ONLY MY OC - AUBREY MILLIGAN.**

* * *

So it definitely was not a witch. They cleared that up hours ago. Sam had already scoped the victims' houses and vehicles; no hex bags. Also, witches were never so specific with their spells. Something told Aubrey that bringing on the plague wasn't their thing.

"Sweet," she drawled. "Blood, boils, locusts…"

Sam nodded his head, sighing. "Three of your more popular Egyptian plagues."

Aubrey dropped the case files onto the table and leaned back against her chair just as Dean picked up the jar full of locusts. "Yeah, but these guys ate their way out of a cop's melon," he said.

She shivered, wondering why they weren't so bloody. Though she supposed it was better for them; less gore and more work. "I don't quite remember that in the King James," she said, agreeing with Dean.

Sam shrugged, not looking up from his laptop. "Meanwhile, a kid named Christopher Birch was shot in the head last month after a vehicle pursuit," he said. "Hatch, Gray, and Colfax were the three officers involved, and they all filed the exact same police report."

He handed some papers to Dean, and Aubrey read it over his shoulder. "'Suspect exited the vehicle brandishing a firearm. We were forced to fire.'"

Dean set the papers down and exhaled heavily, putting the pieces together just as Aubrey was. "'Just a kid with no face and a planted gun'," he said, quoting Officer Colfax's words.

"Bunch of dicks." Aubrey shook her head. "So they pop the kid, plant the piece."

Sam pursed his lips. "Maybe Colfax is right," he said. "You know, maybe heaven has a hate-on for bad cops."

"So we're listening to the guy with the bug in his custard?" Dean retorted. He practically shoved the papers into Aubrey's hands—she only sighed—before standing up from his chair. "That's… that's the, uh… the _theory_ you want to go with?" He made his way to the fridge and snatched a bottle of beer as Aubrey took his seat.

"Dean, angels got to have something to do, right?" Sam said, raising his eyebrows. "Now that we're post-apocalypse?"

"Yeah, maybe."

At the word _angels_, an idea had already popped into Aubrey's head and she had slammed her hand onto the table. Both brothers snapped their heads to look at her, surprised. She beamed, brandishing her finger. "We should call Cas."

Dean frowned. "I was gonna say the same thing—"

"You're kidding, right?" Sam piped up. He looked amused, and maybe slightly offended, by the idea of calling on their guardian angel for help. Aubrey was curious to know why. She shrugged and stared pointedly at him, watching him release a single, humorless laugh. "Aubrey, I tried," he said. "It was the first, and second, and third thing I did soon as I got topside. Son of a bitch won't answer the phone."

Aubrey looked to Dean, who only shrugged. "Well, let's give it a shot." She smiled and settled herself back down onto her chair, watching as the older brother closed his eyes and placed his hands as close together as possible. He started, "Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray to Castiel to get his feathery ass down here."

She rolled her eyes. _If these idiots always called on him like that, no wonder he won't pick up._ "That was stupid," she told Dean.

"You're an idiot," Sam agreed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

The older brother opened his eyes slightly and raised a finger to both of them. "Stay positive."

"Oh, I am positive." Aubrey sighed, thinking whether or not the angel would come if she was the one who called.

Apparently, the brothers were thinking the same thing. Sam hit her on the shoulder, forcing her to look up. She frowned. "Ow…?"

"You try calling him," he said.

"_Why_?"

Dean shrugged. "Well, chances are the son of a bitch will come down if it's his girlfriend calling for help."

Aubrey massaged her temples, getting impatient; although, she was sceptic about it as well. "And what makes you think that I'm his _girlfriend_?"

She glanced at the brothers just in time to see them share a look with each other, small smiles on their faces. "Just a hunch," Dean said, the smile turning into a full-sized smirk.

_That doesn't make any sense._ "Whatever." Aubrey rolled her eyes before closing them, knowing that the brothers wouldn't let it go. She sighed, saying, "Hey, Cas? You mind coming down here for a sec? It's your good _friend_, Aubrey." She heard Dean chuckling in front of her and she hit him once. "We kind of need some help right about now."

They waited for a long moment, Aubrey expecting a large gust of wind to enter the room and suddenly the angel in the trench coat would be in the room with them. But nothing came, and all three of them plopped back down onto their seats.

"It was worth a try…" Aubrey trailed off. Truthfully, it sucked.

"Come on, Cas. Don't be a dick," Dean piped up. "We got ourselves a plague-like situation down here. Do you… do you copy?"

She could have laughed at the bluntness of his request, but the situation was so depressing that she couldn't bring herself to do it. Dean opened one eye and scanned the room, even though the angel still hadn't come. She sat down and scanned the papers, though her mind was wandering to the last time they'd seen each other. It was during the case with the rogue cupid. She remembered how cold he'd acted towards her afterwards, and then she was driving, and it was the middle of the night, and the crash… Sam and Dean and Bobby still did not know about that.

"Like I said," Sam drawled from the other side of the room. "The son of a bitch doesn't _answer_—" He stopped abruptly. Aubrey looked up and her heart skipped a beat when she saw who was standing right behind him. And while the smirk on Sam's face fell, a large grin was slowly making its way up Aubrey's face.

Sam pursed his lips, looking to Aubrey. "He's right behind me, isn't he?" She nodded her head once, still not taking her eyes off the angel at the other end of the room. As Sam turned around, she couldn't help but to notice that her angel looked no different than before—except that he looked weary.

"Hello," Castiel said, with that same gruff voice Aubrey had gotten accustomed to.

And while she would have welcomed him back with open arms (and maybe a kiss on the cheek), Sam had other plans. "Hello?" he snapped.

The angel nodded his head once. "Yes."

"'Hello'." Sam threw his hands up in exasperation. Aubrey smiled slightly at his almost-perfect impression of Castiel's voice, and watched with amused eyes as the younger brother glared at the angel. "'_Hello_'?"

Suffice it to say, Cas looked confused. He frowned. "That is still the term?"

"I spent all that time trying to get through to you," Sam continued, ignoring the angel's question. "Aubrey and Dean call once and now it's 'hello'?!" Aubrey glanced at Dean, and they both shrugged.

Castiel sighed. "Yes."

"So, what, you—you like them better or something?" Sam looked pissed. Somehow, Aubrey couldn't blame him. But she was happier to finally see her guardian angel after all those months of hunting alone.

The angel turned around to face Sam, and tilted his head. "Dean and I do share a more profound bond," he said. "As for Aubrey…" She raised an eyebrow and watched as his original confidence crumbled ever so slightly. He cleared his throat. "I wasn't gonna mention it."

Aubrey frowned as the two brothers smiled lightly—even Sam, who still seemed to be pissed. But then Dean turned serious again and she lost her chance to get some answers.

"Cas, I think what he's trying to say is that… he went to hell for us," Dean said. "I mean, he really took one for the team. You remember that? And then he comes back without a clue, and you can't take five friggin' minutes to give him some answers?"

"If I had any answers, I might have responded," Castiel replied, and Aubrey sighed. She hated it when the boys started yelling at him. Sometimes, she thought they'd forgotten that he could smite them anytime. The angel continued, "But I don't know, Sam. We have no idea who brought you back from the cage… or why."

"So, it _wasn't_ God?" Aubrey piped up, curious as well.

For the first time in fifteen months, he met her gaze. She resisted the urge to smile and waited for his reply instead. "No one's even seen God," he said. "The whole thing remains mysterious."

Sam stood up. "What the hell does that mean?"

The angel's eyes snapped back to the younger brother, all patience gone from his face. Aubrey wondered if he'd ever snapped at the boys before. "What part of _I don't know_ escapes your understanding?"

She watched as a flustered Sam took a step back, caving in, with Dean stepping up. "Cas, look, if Sam calls, you answer, okay? You wing your ass down here and you tell him, 'I don't know'." Aubrey shrugged, thinking the idea was sort of legit. "Just because we have some sort of a—a bond or whatever…"

"You think I came because _you_ called?" the angel retorted, raising his eyebrows. Aubrey frowned, not appreciating his newly-found authority. He wasn't like this the last time they met. Had fourteen months really changed him that much? "I came here because of this," he said. Aubrey raised her head to find him walking towards her spot. She was confused at first, but then noticed that his eyes were on the stack of papers in front of her. She stood up and moved away, giving him space to pick some of the papers up, not even giving her a second glance.

She ignored the ache in her chest and made her way beside the two brothers, crossing her arms. "Oh, well, it's nice to know what matters," she muttered. Dean looked down at her questioningly, but she did not send him any sign of acknowledgement.

"It does help one to focus," Castiel replied, his eyes trained on the printed pictures and documents on the table.

"Wait, so—so, you and the halo patrol…" Sam trailed off. "You guys aren't the cause of these killings?"

"No." The angel shook his head. "But they were committed with one of our weapons. There's only one thing that could have brought this into existence." He looked up. "You call it the Staff of Moses."

Beside her, the brothers shared a confused glance. "_The_ staff?" Aubrey asked. It did kind of make sense, though. The bible didn't really say where it went after Moses died, or maybe she just got bored and skipped a page; either one was possible, really.

"It was used in a dominance display against the Egyptians, as I recall." Castiel picked up the jar of locusts, rolling it over in his hands.

Dean scoffed. "Yeah, that one made the papers."

"But I thought the staff turned, like, a—a _river_ into blood," Sam said. "Not one dude."

"The weapon isn't being used at full capacity." The angel raised his head. "I think we can rule Moses out as a suspect." Aubrey tilted her head. Did the guy even know that Moses was dead? She supposed he just thought that he'd somehow come back to life. They were hunters, after all.

Dean cleared his throat. "Okay, but what is… what is Chuck Heston's disco stick doing down here anyway? I mean, don't you guys put away your toys?"

Castiel frowned, walking around the table. "Before the apocalypse, heaven may have been corrupt, but it was stable. The Staff was safely contained. It's been chaos up there since the war ended." Aubrey stared at him, already having an idea on why he sounded so tired. "In the confusion, a number of powerful weapons were stolen."

"Wait," Dean started. "So… so you're saying your nukes are _loose_?"

"I'm afraid so." The angel sighed, turning around again and brandishing the jar in his hand. For a moment, Aubrey thought he'd drop it. He didn't. "But, you've stumbled onto one of them. We must find the weapon that did this." He raised his head. "I need your help."

Aubrey was all for it. She really was. She couldn't wait to get into another case with her supposed guardian angel. But, sadly, Sam was still pissed.

"That's rich," he scoffed. "Really."

That was when Castiel threw the jar to Sam. He caught it, thankfully, but the angel wasn't done. "Sam, Dean," he started. Aubrey wondered why he hadn't included her. "My 'people skills' are 'rusty." She bit back a smile at the quote-unquote gestures he was making with his fingers. "Pardon me, but I have spent the last 'year'—" _Quote-unquote._ "—as a multi-dimensional wavelength of celestial intent. But believe me; you _do not_ want that weapon down here. Help me find it." His voice dropped an octave, if that was even possible. "Or more people will die."

The siblings looked flustered. For a moment, they just stared at the angel, apparently surprised that he had snapped at them so early in the conversation. "Okay," Aubrey piped up from the back, clapping her hands once. "It's time to take a chill pill, guys." She glanced at Castiel, and he nodded once, not meeting her gaze.

"Well," Dean finally spoke up, making his way back to the table stacked with papers, his brother trailing behind him. "If the angels didn't pull the trigger, then that brings us back to motive."

Castiel frowned. "What?"

"Back to the case," Aubrey explained, offering a small smile. As soon as she did, the angel looked away. She rolled her eyes, but otherwise made no retort.

Sam set the jar of locusts on the table. "Right now, we got three dead cops," he said. "Only thing linking them is this." Dean handed him a newspaper article, one Aubrey had printed out.

She nodded in understanding, already having memorized the headline: "_Father of slain suspect calls for investigation._"

* * *

**reviews are always appreciated and welcomed! :)**


	3. Chapter 3

***before you read this, you MUST MUST MUST read "Love and Sad Cherubs" first. it is imperative to your true understanding of the plotline! (you'll find it in my account.)**

**the "crash" starts to take effect here, and the boy's obliviousness to this will become a factor. take note: i have added a dose of my own plot twists to this Part of the story. you need not worry, it's logical and fits the pieces. ;)**

**I DO NOT OWN SUPERNATURAL IN ANY WAY, ONLY MY OC - AUBREY MILLIGAN.**

**P.S. happy Valentines! :D**

* * *

Transporting by Angel was something Aubrey hadn't been introduced to, and some could only imagine her nausea when the floor disappeared from her feet, only for her to reappear moments later in a very unfamiliar room.

The tugging feeling in her gut was the worst. _Definitely cannot be compared to free-falling._ The hand gripping her shoulder loosened, and she looked up to find the four of them standing in the middle of a very cosy room. There was a man sitting on a sofa right in front of them, cutting out a newspaper article, though he hadn't seemed to notice them yet.

He did, however, when Dean huffed. "Whoa, Cas, a little warning next time?" the older brother said.

"What the—" The old man on the sofa flew to his feet, dropping the pair of scissors he had been holding. "How'd you get in here?!"

Aubrey sighed. "Mr. Birch, settle down." She took out her badge, which she thankfully hadn't forgotten. "Federal agents." A moment of amusement passed when, beside her, Castiel looked considerably confused with the badges in their hands.

"But you can't just walk in here—!"

"Quite a collection you've got there, huh?" Sam cut him off, putting his badge away and nodding at the articles on the table in front of them.

The old man, Darryl Birch, glanced down at the articles, frowning. "What are you trying to—?"

"Look," Sam interrupted _yet again_. "We know the truth, alright? Chris didn't have a gun on him when those cops shot him. They set him up."

"Yeah," Darryl confirmed, pursing his lips. "They're all getting theirs."

Aubrey stepped up. "And who's giving it to them, Darryl?"

He lowered his head, making him look guilty. "Darryl?" Dean piped up, stepping forward as well. "Did you kill Toby Gray and the others?"

"_Me_?" the old man exasperated. "I didn't kill anyone. Look at how they died!"

"You smote them with the Staff of Moses," Castiel stated. Aubrey bent her head and stared at him, pursing her lips. He looked back at her, and frowned. "What?"

She sighed and returned her attention to Darryl, who was staring at the angel as well. He said, "The hell kind of fed are you?"

Aubrey raised her hands imploringly, but was stopped when Castiel spoke up. "We don't have time for this," he said, before stepping up to stand face to face with Darryl; the only thing separating them was the table. "Where is it?" he demanded.

"Leave my dad alone!"

All five of them turned to the new voice coming from behind them. Standing in the middle of the doorway, and holding what seemed to be a piece of wood, was a young boy with the same dark skin as Darryl. The old man's second son, apparently. He brandished the piece of wood like a gun.

Dean blinked. "Is that…?"

"Yes," Castiel replied.

"Shouldn't it be bigger?" Sam asked.

"Yes, it's—it's been sawed off."

_By who?_ Aubrey was about to ask. But the boy brandished the Staff again, and she was silenced. "Leave him alone," he said. "It wasn't him."

"Aaron, get out of here," Darryl said, but then stopped with a gasp. Aubrey turned around and found him lying on the sofa, his eyes closed. Castiel looked down at him and she assumed he'd just used his angel mojo on the guy.

She turned back around to Aaron, who asked, "What did you do to him?"

"He's not dead," came Dean's blunt reply.

Aubrey threw him a glare, and he shrugged sheepishly at her. "He's all right, he's just sleeping," she told the boy as gently as she could. She didn't drop her act when he pointed the Staff to her. _He's just scared,_ she told herself, even though she knew that she could drop dead any second. Luckily, before that happened, Castiel had appeared behind Aaron and had taken the Staff from his hands. The boy backed up into the hallway, almost tripping over his own feet.

"Cas, take it easy," Aubrey said, frowning. The angel glanced at her once before looking back down at the boy.

She started advancing towards them. "Listen," she started. "We're not here to hurt you, okay? But we _need_ to know: where did you get this thing?"

"Please don't kill my dad," he said shakily. "It was me. I did it."

Aubrey smiled, admiring his fierce loyalty towards his father. She only knew the names of a few children who would do the same. "Okay, nobody's killing anybody." She squatted down so that they were almost eye-to-eye, except the boy stood a few feet taller than her now. She didn't mind. She assumed that it would make her look less intimidating.

"Your name's Aaron, right?" she asked. "Aaron Birch?" The boy nodded once. "Alright, Aaron, where'd you get that?" She gestured to the Staff still in Castiel's hand.

Aaron shook his head. "You won't believe me."

She shrugged. "Try me."

He hesitated at first; shifting from foot to foot before finally caving in. "It was an angel."

Aubrey frowned. "An angel?"

"Those liars," he said. "They killed my brother and _nothing_ bad even happened to them. It's not fair." _No, it's not._ "So I prayed to God every night he would punish them. God didn't answer…" He paused. "But _he_ did."

"His name," Castiel said. "Did he give you a name?"

Aaron shook his head. "No," he said. "He just said I could have justice, but I was gonna have to take it myself. He… he _gave_ me the stick."

Behind her, Dean stepped up, asking, "He just _gave_ it to you?" Aaron nodded his head once, but even then he looked nervous. He was obviously lying, and Aubrey was going to coax the truth out of him.

"Aaron," she said softly. He snapped his head to look at her again. "What did he ask for, in return for the stick?"

For a moment, she thought he was going to lie again. But with the four pairs of eyes on him, she guessed it would have been impossible for someone as young as him. But then he caved in, and Aubrey wished that he hadn't been so vengeful.

"My soul," Aaron answered.

"You _sold_ your _soul_ to an _angel_?" Sam said from behind them.

Her heart dropped to her stomach and she looked up at Castiel, who was looking just as confused as she was. "Can that even happen?" she asked, standing up and brushing herself off.

"It's never happened before," the angel replied. "An angel's buying souls… that could explain why he cut the Staff into pieces."

"Why?"

Castiel shrugged. "More pieces, more product."

"_More product_?" Dean scoffed. "Who is this guy?"

"We'll find him," the angel said, right before placing two of his fingers onto Aaron's forehead, putting him to sleep.

Aubrey frowned, feeling a weird fluttering feeling in her stomach. "What'd you do that for?"

"Portability," came the angel's reply. There was the familiar sound of wings, and then they were back at Sam and Dean's motel room. Aubrey clutched her stomach, keeping the bile in just as Castiel practically threw Aaron onto the bed.

"Cas, you do realize you just kidnapped a kid," Dean said beside her. She sat herself down on a chair to steady herself.

"If the angel we seek truly bought this boy's soul," Castiel started. "When a claim is laid on a living soul, it leaves a mark, a brand."

Aubrey sighed, raising her head. "What, like a—like a shirt tag at camp?"

"I have no idea," the angel replied. She realized her mistake and sent an apologetic smile before cradling her head in her hands, trying to get rid of the stars dancing before her eyes. "But I can read the mark and find the name of the angel that bought the soul."

"How?" Dean asked.

"Well, painfully for him," the angel said. "The reading will be excruciating."

Aubrey's head shot up, and she tried to ignore the sudden vertigo. "What?"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa." Dean started towards the two by the bed.

Castiel raised his head only for a moment, insisting. "Dean."

"He's a kid, Cas," Aubrey piped up, slowly pulling herself off the chair. "How much do you think it'll affect him?"

He frowned slightly. "Physically, minimal."

"Oh well, yeah, then, by all means," Dean snapped. "Stick your arm right in there!"

"Dean!" It wasn't the first time the angel had raised his voice. "If I get the name, I can work a ritual to track the angel down."

"And I'm all for that, but come on! There's got to be another way."

The angel shook his head. "There is no other way."

A long moment of silence went by before the older brother spoke again, and he chose the wrong words. "You're gonna torture a kid?"

"I _can't_ care about that, Dean," Castiel said. "I don't have the luxury." And while Dean lowered his head, Aubrey stared on at the angel. She looked at him imploringly, her eyes asking the silent questions. He said nothing more, only meeting her gaze for a few seconds before he turned around. He slowly pushed his hand into Aaron's chest, and though no blood came, Aubrey looked away. The boy's cries of pain seemed louder in her ears than they were supposed to be.

When they stopped, she opened her eyes and turned around again to find Castiel pulling his sleeves back down. "He'll rest now," he said, and though he looked as if he tried to hide it, Aubrey could hear the obvious strain in his voice.

"Did you get a name?" Sam asked. "What is it?"

"I thought he died in the war."

"What, he was—a friend, or something?"

"A good friend."

Again, there was the strain in his voice, and Aubrey wondered how long angels could repress their emotions before they finally snapped. Something told her she didn't want to know.

"Yeah, well, your frat buddy is now moonlighting as a crossroads demon," Dean said.

Aubrey glared at him before slipping past the two siblings. "Who is he?"

The angel didn't meet her gaze. "Balthazar, I wonder…"

Suddenly, there was the sound of heavily flapping wings, and someone else was in the room with them. By the door, a man stood in a black suit and tie, similar to what Sam and Dean had been wearing when they found Aubrey in the morgue that morning. "Balthazar," he said, a malicious glint in his eyes. "Thanks, Castiel, we'll make good use of the name."

Aubrey moved away just in time before he surged forward, immediately locking in combat with Castiel. Behind her, Sam and Dean backed up against the table. They could only watch as the two angels fought, the sound of metal ringing in the air accompanied by grunts of exertion. As much as she wanted to help, Aubrey knew that she couldn't fight an angel.

Or maybe she could.

She recalled the night of her car crash, and the lengths she'd gone through to survive it. Sam and Dean didn't know, neither did Castiel. Only her.

The two blades skittered across the floor to stop right beside her. Both angels were left without weapons, and she saw her chance. The enemy was standing in front of the window, and she rushed forward, grabbing him by the jacket and pushing him all the way to the window. Unfortunately, he had a hold on her as well. They crashed against the window together, and Aubrey knew that she was going to fall as well. His grip on her sleeve was tight, and while they fell farther away from the window, the windowsill quickly disappeared from her sights.

She closed her eyes tight, waiting for the inevitable impact. But then she noticed that the grip on her sleeve had disappeared, and her hand was being held above her head. She opened her eyes and found Castiel gripping her hand tight, his face not completely blank. Among other things, she noticed shock and fear in his features, and thought that maybe she could get the old angel back just yet.

Below her, the enemy angel was gone, but the large dent on the top of Sam's car was proof enough that he had landed hard.

Satisfied, Aubrey brought her other hand up and grasped Castiel's sleeve tightly. He pulled her up, and once she was back on solid ground, there came the yelling.

"What the hell, Aubrey?!"

"You could have died!"

"My car!"

There was only one low voice among the others, though he sounded flustered as well. "That was foolish," Castiel stated, a hint of panic in his voice.

Aubrey raised her head and scowled at the three men. "Can we please just finish the damn ritual before any more angel douchebags come?"

"Agreed," the angel said, before helping her up to her feet. She ignored it when his hands touched her waist, knowing that he didn't mean anything by it. All of them seemed to have changed over the past year, him mostly. The last time they'd met, he already had at least a few ounces of humanity in him. Aubrey was afraid that all the time he'd spent in heaven fighting in the war had washed all that away.

"Who was that anyway?" she asked, setting herself down on the bed and rolling her shoulders as Castiel raided the pantry and the many drawers.

"A soldier of Raphael," he said. "He must have followed me when I answered your call."

"Raphael… the archangel?" Aubrey shook her head, confused. "What would he and his goons want with Balthazar?"

"Simply put, Raphael and his followers want him to rule heaven. I, and many others—the last thing we want is to let him take over. It would be catastrophic."

"And they want to find Balthazar because…?"

Castiel pulled Sam's duffel bag onto the bed, opened it, and took out a bottle of holy water. "Balthazar has the weapons. And whoever has the weapons wins the war."

Dean shifted on his feet. "And what happens if Raphael wins? I mean what—what does he want?"

"What he's always wanted," the angel replied. "To end the story the way it was written."

"You mean the apocalypse? The one we derailed?"

"Yes, that one. Raphael wants to put it back on the rails."

Aubrey listened in on the conversation whilst she massaged her temples. Sam and Dean knew more about the heaven stuff than she did, and it was taking so much of her IQ to keep up. In her head, she kept things simple. _Balthazar has weapons. Weapons win war. Raphael wants weapons to win war. Raphael wants apocalypse. Raphael bad._

In a few minutes, Castiel had all the ingredients he needed for the ritual and was setting up at the kitchen table. He had wiped the table clean of all the case files and documents and was drawing on it with a chalk.

"Why does Raphael want to bring back all this crap?" Dean asked.

"He's a traditionalist."

_Apparently._ "Cas…" she trailed off, and watched as his hand stopped drawing. "Why didn't you tell us this before?"

It took him a moment to respond. "I was ashamed." There it was again, the strain in his voice. "I expected more from my brothers." Aubrey thought about all he'd gone through—or at least, everything she knew about—and frowned. He finally looked up and met her gaze; this time, he didn't look away. "I'm sorry."

She smiled softly at him, and his lip curled a fraction of an inch before it was gone and he was serious again. He grabbed Dean's arm from across the table and cut into his palm. "Now, I need your blood," he said. Aubrey chuckled lightly, not taking her eyes off the angel.

_I'll bring you back._

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**reviews are always appreciated and welcomed! :)**


	4. Chapter 4

**a little bit of a time jump here, I KNOW. but please forgive me because i didn't know where else to start this chapter off. xD**

**I DO NOT OWN SUPERNATURAL IN ANY WAY; ONLY MY OC - AUBREY MILLIGAN.**

**(read Small World first if you have not read it yet.)**

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"Why the hell were we told to stay down here again?"

"Aubrey, I swear, if you don't shut up about it, I'm throwing you to Raphael as an archangel squeaky toy."

She grinned, but otherwise kept quiet. As far as she knew him, Dean wouldn't do that. But he got pissed when he meant to. She rolled the angel blade over in her hands, inspecting it with curious eyes. It didn't look like anything special, really; though it was lighter than any knife she had ever used, that was for sure.

Balthazar had a huge backyard; ample space for fighting. But then again, they weren't really going to fight any of the angels. All three of them knew that they would not be able to beat an angel in hand-to-hand combat; Aubrey was sceptic if _she_ could, but she hadn't exactly tested the theory yet. Her eyes travelled to the Enochian Banishing Sigil that Sam had drawn by the door. It was almost invisible, considering that it was dark, and the wall was black, and the blood had dried, turning it almost black as well. But it was there, and it was concealed. If any angel came running for them, any three of them could just cut their palm and blow the son of a bitch skyhigh.

Approximately ten minutes passed before she asked another question. "Do you think Balthazar's up there with Cas right now?"

Dean sighed, but answered her question anyway. "Yeah, probably."

"You think they're fighting?"

"Yeah, probably." Both brothers answered, this time, and Aubrey chuckled at the comic moment. But then a large bolt of lightning flashed across the sky, and the thunder boomed loud enough to shake the ground.

More followed, and Aubrey stood up off the cement walk and raised the angel blade. "Is that him?"

Beside her, Dean nodded. "That's him."

By the gate, she noticed three dark figures walking towards the house. She wondered if they knew that they were outnumbered, but then again, their fighting prose was much more impressive than hers, and Dean's, and Sam's together.

"Go wait by the Sigil," she told Dean. He nodded once before disappearing behind the wall. "Sam, you stay with me. Be ready." He bobbed his head. The three dark figures had turned into a lone man, and he was slowly making his way across the yard and towards them.

When he was just a few feet away, Aubrey cleared her throat. His head snapped towards her and Sam, and she smiled pleasantly. "Hey there," she said, before nodding at the blade in his hand. "Lookie! I got one too." She raised her blade, but then the angel wasn't there anymore.

There was a strong gust of wind, and in a moment, she felt the cold metal of a knife being pressed up against her throat. "You think you can knife fight an angel?" he asked, pressing the knife harder against her skin.

_Now, Dean._

"Who's fighting?" came the older brother's voice. "Peace out, douchewad." From the corner of her eye, she watched him press his bloody hand against the Banishing Sigil. There was a flash of blinding white light, and Aubrey was forced to close her eyes. The cold feeling against her throat went away, and she heard the knife clatter to the floor.

She opened her eyes. Dean was breathing heavily, and Sam was just stepping out from behind the wall. He frowned. "That's it?"

Dean shrugged. "I only saw three of them make it on the yard. I'm guessing the other two were Raphael and one of his goons."

Aubrey narrowed her eyes. "They're both upstairs with Cas, then."

"I guess so."

"Can he even handle them?"

"Aubrey, chill." Sam raised his hands in a calming gesture. "We've seen the guy take care of three angels by himself, and he came out fine."

That didn't make her any less worried. "Has he fought an archangel before?"

"Yes." It seemed to be the truth, but they were leaving something out.

"And did he win?"

Dean pursed his lips. "Not exactly…" Aubrey raised an eyebrow and he caved. "To put it bluntly, the archangel kind of… made him explode into a million pieces."

At that, Aubrey was running down the hallway. She ignored the yells of the two siblings behind her. They were chasing her, yes, but she was faster than the two. At some point, they lost her trail. She didn't slow down, even though she was breathless. Lightning shook the chandelier above her head and she surged forward, expecting it to fall. It didn't, and she was racing down another hallway. Something told her that Castiel and the archangel weren't upstairs anymore.

By pure coincidence, she was right. She found them by the staircase in the main hall. Castiel was on his knees, with Raphael—a tall, dark-skinned man with a bald head—looming over him, gripping his angel blade in his hands.

"Somehow," the archangel said. "I don't think God will be bringing you back this time."

He raised his blade, and Aubrey shouted. "NO!" In the millisecond he had paused, she had already run the distance between them. Just as he was turning around, Aubrey rammed against him, pushing him to the ground. His blade slipped out of his hands and skittered away from them both. Unfortunately, Aubrey's did as well. She started hitting him. As hard as she could, she kept punching him on the face. Her knuckles would be bruised badly, she knew—because if angels were painful to punch, how about archangels? Thankfully, it seemed to be making a difference.

At some point, she was able to cut his lip and break his nose; but as she was finally aiming for the side of his head, he stopped her fist. He squeezed it tight, and she cried out in agony, positive that she'd just heard the snap of her bones, before she was thrown across the room. Her back hit the wall and she slid to the floor. Pain erupted from the base of her shoulders when she tried to push herself up again, and she winced.

"What _on earth_ are you?" Raphael said. Aubrey opened her eyes just enough to see his feet planted right in front of her. His fingers curled around her neck and he pushed her up against the wall.

Her feet weren't touching the ground, and she was in extreme pain, but she managed a smile. "Your worst nightmare?" He punched her in the gut, hard, and she wheezed, blood spouting from her lips.

He pulled her chin up roughly. "Your kind was supposed to be extinct _ages_ ago."

"What can I say?" Aubrey managed. "I'm special."

She realized she was pushing it when he punched her stomach again. Stars danced before her eyes, and her eyelids were drooping closed. "I should kill you right now, do the universe a favor," Raphael said. This time, she didn't have the strength to reply. "Yes, I think I will." Through hazy eyes, she saw him raise his fist, probably going to finish her off with the hardest hit yet. She didn't look away, though. Aubrey decided to keep her dignity.

But that was when a knife sprouted from the archangel's shoulder. Aubrey's eyes widened. Castiel twisted the knife and Raphael screamed, dropping Aubrey altogether. She collapsed to the floor, and there, she watched as the archangel threw the lesser across the room. Castiel landed on the steps. He groaned, starting to pull himself up. Meanwhile, Raphael had already pulled the dagger out of his back and was advancing towards Castiel. Aubrey knew that the archangel would find it easy overpower him.

So, with all the remaining strength she could muster, she threw herself towards the archangel's feet.

It probably was not one of her best ideas, but she was only buying time. Surely Sam and Dean would have realized that she and Castiel would not be able to beat an archangel, right?

Raphael barely glanced at her, only turning around enough to kick her in the gut before focusing on Castiel once more. He must have thought it would be wise to get rid of the greater threat before moving onto the _girl_. What was left of Aubrey's insides turned to jelly, and she curled in around herself. Though in pain, she was still completely aware of what was about to happen. "Cas…" He didn't hear her. Raphael already had him pinned against the wall, holding his angel blade up. "Cas—"

"HEY!" Aubrey turned her head ever so slightly and found a man standing by the doorway; no one she had been accustomed to, obviously, but she took a wild guess and assumed him to be the famous Balthazar.

"Look at my junk," he said, holding out what seemed to be a glowing white stone.

It was a big deal, apparently. Raphael backed up, raising his blade. "No."

The light in the stone grew brighter, and to Aubrey's shock, the archangel started turning into white powder. Or, it looked like powder. His skin crumbled into fine dust, and in a few seconds, he was nothing but a pile of white grains on the floor, his clothes and shoes of no importance. The smell of salt filled the room and Aubrey guessed that it was not powder after all.

"Same thing happened to Lot's wife," Balthazar said, looking as if he was enjoying himself very much. "Iodize the poor sucker, and your kitchen is stocked _for life_." From the corner of her eye, Aubrey saw Castiel pull himself onto his feet. He rushed to her immediately, and she was flattered, but still in pain.

She groaned when he tried to help her onto her feet. "Ribs… cracked…" she said through gritted teeth. "Heal… _now_…" Castiel placed his fingers on her forehead; warmth rushed through her, and just like that, the pain was gone. She gripped the angel's arm and he helped her to her feet. Her head wasn't even spinning anymore.

"Thanks," she muttered. The angel nodded once, but didn't say anything else. His eyes pierced into her, but it was not the kind that made her stomach flutter. It was malevolent, in some way… or perhaps she was just overreacting. One thing was obvious, however: relief was the last thing on the angel's mind at the moment.

"He didn't really need to heal you," Balthazar said, chuckling. "But then again, you already knew that, didn't you?" Aubrey eyed him warily, wondering if Cas would be able to decipher his words very quickly. She turned her head to look at the angel beside her. His eyebrows were furrowed deeply, and his lips pursed. She put on her best poker face and offered him a dull shrug. Thankfully, that was enough; that, or he was distracted with other matters.

He craned his neck and looked to Balthazar, saying, "You came back."

She knew that he was hoping that his old friend would say _"Of course I did. We're brothers"_ or anything of the sort. But what he said was actually very far off from what she hoped.

"Well, now Raphael will have to go shopping for a new vessel. Should give me a nice, long head start on him," Balthazar said. Aubrey supposed that angels weren't very overemotional; in fact, they were masters of keeping their true feelings locked away, from what she'd heard from Sam and Dean.

Balthazar smiled. "Until next time."

That was when Aubrey noticed the Winchester brothers standing behind the older angel. Sam had his arms wrapped around a vase of what she assumed was holy oil, while Dean was holding up a lighter, brandishing it enough so that she and Cas would notice. They did. Aubrey subtly looked down and repressed a smile when she saw the ring of holy oil around Balthazar.

Castiel tilted his head. "Next time," he said. _Nice one,_ Aubrey thought, just as Dean flicked his lighter on.

"No time like the present," he said, and then dropped his lighter right onto the holy oil. Flames sprouted immediately, and Aubrey was reminded of the time they'd trapped the bastard Gabriel in a similar way.

Balthazar took a moment to examine the flames before his face contorted in anger. "Holy fire," he said. "You hairless ape!" _That's a new one._ "Release me!"

"First you're taking your marker off of Aaron Birch's soul," Dean said, raising his voice to be heard over the roaring of the fire.

"Am I?" Balthazar yelled.

Dean nodded. "Sam."

The younger brother stepped out of the shadows, holding the jar of holy oil in plain view. "Unless you like your wings extra crispy," he said, pulling the cork off. "I'd think about it."

Aubrey bit back a laugh and retreated to Castiel's right side. When she glanced at him, she was surprised to find him looking considerably amused at everything that was happening. She smirked before focusing on the archangel trapped inside the ring of holy fire.

Balthazar was facing them, now. "Castiel," he started. "I stood for you in heaven. Are you gonna let—"

"I believe the _hairless ape_ has the floor," the younger angel said, cutting him off. Once Balthazar had turned away, Aubrey patted Castiel's shoulder, nodding in approval. He turned to send her what seemed to be a half-hearted smile for a second before looking back to the events unfolding before them.

Balthazar scowled, right before laughing. It was a cold laugh, and humorless; it sounded almost devilish. Aubrey shivered as the older angel said, "Very well." He clasped his hands together in front of his face and closed his eyes. The four of them watched as he took two deep breaths, before finally letting his hands drop. He opened his eyes. "The boy's debt is cleared. His soul is his own."

Dean sighed in relief, but Aubrey wasn't done. "Why are you buying up human souls anyway?" she asked.

"In _this_ economy?" Balthazar said. "It's probably the only thing worth buying! Do you have any idea what souls are worth? What power they hold?" He gestured to Aubrey confidently, smiling. "In fact, yours is worth so much more!"

Aubrey froze, narrowing her eyes. _Shut up,_ she wanted to tell him, but she knew that if she did, the rest of her companions would grow even more suspicious. She didn't want them to know yet. She decided to stick to the status quo. "What the hell does that mean?"

The older angel laughed out loud. "Come, my dear. What do you want for it? Give me your soul, and I'll give you _anything_ you want. What is it, then? Money, a nice car, new guns, true love—"

"Go to hell," Aubrey finally spat.

"Maybe." Balthazar shrugged nonchalantly, still smiling at her. "Alright, I'll drop it. Now…" He looked to Dean. "Release me."

Dean scoffed. "Suck it, ass-clown. Nobody said anything."

Beside her, Castiel raised his hand—at first, it looked as if to silence the older brother, but then she noticed the flames dying down around Balthazar. She took a step back. "Cas…?" When had he gained the power to do that anyway?

He ignored her, instead talking to Balthazar. "My debt to you is cleared."

"Fair enough." Balthazar narrowed his eyes. "I _would_ keep an eye on this one if I were you," he said, nodding to Aubrey. She felt the younger angel turn his gaze to her, and lowered her eyes. "Ta-ta," Balthazar said. There was the sound of flapping wings, and he was gone.

Dean stepped forward. "Cas, are you out of your mind?!" But then, there came the sound of wings again, and their guardian angel was gone as well. Aubrey hadn't realized she'd been holding her breath until she exhaled deeply. "Cas?" Dean yelled, almost sounding panicked. "Oh, friggin' angels. Come on!"

* * *

** "Aubrey?"**

** She shook the sleep off, slapping herself thrice before replying. "Yeah?"**

** Dean shifted on the driver's seat. "What, uh…" He scratched his head. "What was old daddy Balthazar talking about back there?"**

** Aubrey smiled. "Which one?" She stretched her arms in front of her though it was especially hard since she was in the backseat.**

** "Oh, I don't know," Dean started sarcastically. "I mean, your soul is apparently worth all the friggin' mummies in Egypt. But let's talk about how he told us to keep an eye on you."**

** "Geez, I told you, someone stole my car." She tried to keep her cool, even though inside she was freaking out. Were they onto her? "And besides, I thought it'd be fun hunting with you guys."**

** "Why is your soul worth a crapload, Aubrey?" Dean said, practically yelling.**

** She cringed, but hid it exceptionally well. "Like I said to Raphael," she stated. "I'm special. Come on, Dean. I seriously don't know what the hell he was talking about. Can we please just get to a motel so we can get some sleep?"**

** "And some food," Sam agreed. Aubrey gestured to him frantically, proving her point to Dean.**

** Dean sighed heavily and rubbed his eyes. "Yeah, whatever."**

** Aubrey nodded in approval, settling back onto her seat. **_**Crisis averted… for now.**_** She would have to tell them some time. And with the way things were going, she had to tell them soon, before anyone else broke the news to them. Lying, unfortunately, had always been a necessary evil with the boys. But she did not know how long she was going to be able to keep up the ruse.**

** Her last thought was that she was thankful that Cas was not there with them in the car, because he was sure to have been the most suspicious—and then fatigue over took her, and she fell asleep on the cramped backseat of Dean's Impala.**

_**Friggin' angels.**_

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**reviews are always appreciated! ^_^**


	5. Chapter 5

**I DO NOT OWN SUPERNATURAL IN ANY WAY - ONLY MY OC: AUBREY MILLIGAN.**

* * *

**~One week later~**

"Damn, that Lamia got me good."

"Stitch yourself up once we get into a decent motel."

"And you burned me, Dean!"

"Hey, I yelled at you to get out of the way. And _I_ didn't burn you. The son of a bitch did while he was up in flames! Don't get pissed at _me_."

"I was pinned," Aubrey growled, cradling her arm. The gash wasn't very deep, but it ran from her elbow to below her shoulder. Another wave of blood spilled out, wetting her already-soaked jacket. Aubrey groaned, holding her hand out to Sam, who handed her yet _another_ towel. "Thanks," she muttered, hissing when she pressed on the cut.

Dean glanced at her from the front seat. "Where'd you get burned?" he asked. He was driving over the speed limit (as always); cars and street lamps flew by them, and the endorsements and billboards were just blurs in the night. They were on the highway, and Aubrey would be damned if they didn't get to a motel sooner rather than later.

She sighed, leaning back on her headrest. "Hairs on my head have probably been seared off, I'd expect."

From the passenger seat, Sam chuckled. "Wuss."

"Eyebrows too, I think." Aubrey shrugged.

The younger Winchester smiled before furrowing his eyebrows and turning to his brother. "Didn't Bobby say that Lamia's were only supposed to be found in Greece?"

Dean took a moment to think before nodding. "Yeah, what about it?"

"Don't you think it's kind of… weird?" Sam asked. "I mean, how would a monster get from Greece to an underpopulated town in Wisconsin?"

"It's crazy," Dean admitted. "I'll give you that." He dropped one hand from the wheel.

When Aubrey was satisfied that the car wasn't straying from the road, she closed her eyes. "It's a new era, yeah?"

Sam exhaled. "Definitely."

Luckily, the boys thought that they'd earned a good night's sleep. Aubrey agreed whole-heartedly, knowing that she wasn't the only one who was going to sleep in.

Before they'd exited the car, Dean gave her his jacket. "Put it on," he had said, nodding at her injury. She huffed, but did so anyway. When they stepped out of the car, she felt like a burrito. She probably looked like one, too, considering Dean's coat was thick, and her own—which she wore beneath—was thick as well. Not to mention that it ran all the way to the tops of her thighs. _Damn weather,_ she thought to herself, glaring at the thin spray of mist gathering on the glass doors. The motel they'd picked was cozy enough; carpeted floors, 4 star rooms, soft blankets for the bed.

At least, that was what they saw in the brochures.

The clerk was nice too, definitely better than many she'd talked to in her time; though the trench coat he wore reminded her too much of their missing angel, and Aubrey found herself straining to keep from looking at him. She stared at the designs on the walls, tracing the lines and curves with her eyes. When they finally walked into the room, Aubrey immediately shrugged Dean's jacket off. It dropped to the floor and she stepped over it, heading for the bathroom.

"You need some help?" Dean called from the hallway.

"No," she yelled back, widening her strides, as she had already lost a large amount of blood and she didn't want to be blacking out any time soon. She had already stepped in the bathroom when there was a loud grunt from the hallway; and she turned around just in time to catch the med kit Sam had thrown at her.

He threw her a grin. She glared back for a moment before slamming the door behind her. _Winchesters._

Inside the kit was a sack of sewing needles, a bottle of alcohol, and a few yards of bandage. Aubrey took out one of the needles and gently set it down on the sink. She shrugged off her own jacket, wincing when the rough cloth around the wound scraped against the cut. The blood had made it stick to her skin, and that made it all the more painful. She stood sideways and looked at it on the mirror. The skin around the gash was swollen and red, but it didn't seem to be infected. On her neck, she noticed a bruise from where the Lamia had gripped her tight, pinning her to the ground. It would fade eventually.

Sighing, she turned the faucet on, cupped her hand underneath, and splashed the water onto the wound. Almost immediately, there was a flash of agonizing pain. It travelled up her arm and to her head in a matter of milliseconds, and stars started dancing before her eyes. Aubrey whimpered before grabbing her jacket off the floor and placing a large piece of it into her mouth. Biting into it, she splashed water onto the wound again. The pain was extreme, but bearable this time, and after a few more splashes it was only a dull throbbing.

Her eyes travelled down to the needle still on the sink, and she grimaced. _Time for the fun part._

Twenty minutes of agony and gritted teeth later, she finally stepped out of the bathroom, the wound completely stitched up and bandaged. Her bandaged arm dangled stiffly beside her and she looked down at it in distaste. _It'll heal up later._ Aubrey was just about to say something to the brother sitting on the bed—it didn't matter who, as long as she got to ask the question—but she was silenced when she heard what that particular brother was talking about.

"—different, you know?" It was Dean. "And I get it. You go through something like that and—and you change. But…" Even from where she stood, Aubrey could see the older brother raise his head to look out the window leading to the balcony, where Sam was standing, holding a phone to his ear. "Something's not right to me," Dean finished, his voice almost a sigh.

She knew that it was Bobby on the phone. He was the only person Dean would ever talk to about his brother aside from Aubrey. And at first, she suspected that he had been talking about her. But that assumption flew past when Dean said, "I've got a few questions about that year, when you saw him and I didn't."

What was that supposed to mean? _Sam went behind his back?_ After a moment, she thought better._ Again?_ She knew he'd gotten trapped in Lucifer's Cage along with the devil himself, but wasn't he gone for a year?

Did that mean that… he actually wasn't?

Bobby said something from the other end of the line, but it was too garbled for Aubrey to actually understand.

"You what?" Dean snapped, and after a while, he scoffed. "More important than Sam? Bobby?"

Aubrey frowned. _Bobby, what are you doing?_ It was obvious that he had either hung up on Dean, or put him on hold. Either one was hard to believe. Aubrey knew for a fact that the brothers meant the world to him. What was the old man so busy with?

It was a few seconds before Dean's phone beeped. "Bobby, what the hell?" he demanded. Aubrey leaned forward slightly and heard the faint voice coming from the phone, saying what sounded like _'sorry'_. Dean stood up, and while he was running a hand over his face, Aubrey stepped back into the bathroom and pushed herself up against the wall, one of her ears perked by the door.

"You know," Dean started. "You are the one person that I can talk to about this stuff apart from Aubrey, but she doesn't exactly know about every little detail that happens in our lives. I can't talk to her about Sam, or about leaving Lisa and Ben. I mean, I don't—I don't even know which way is up right now."

There was a long pause, in which Aubrey felt guilty about not taking time to talk to Dean. She hadn't even asked about Lisa; only a few days ago did she even find out that the Winchester had been taking care of a kid. She barely believed it then, but now it was clear that he cared about Ben very much.

"Bobby?" Dean set himself down on the bed. "Hello?"

A faint reply came, one Aubrey couldn't hear but clearly wasn't what Dean had been expecting. "Yeah, okay, you know what? Forget it," he said, smiling humorlessly at nothing. "I mean, I'm baring my soul like a freaking girl and, uh—and you've got stuff to do. Well, that is…"

_Odd._

"That's fine," he finished. "That's fine, but seriously though—a little selfish. Not all about you."

Aubrey's head snapped up, and she met her own gaze in the mirror. By the glass, she could see Dean sitting on the bed with his elbows in his knees and the cellphone held up to his ear. _That was a very bad choice of words._ He looked devastated, but that bitterness slowly turned into confusion. He frowned, saying, "Outside." Her eyes immediately travelled to the door to the balcony, where Sam was still talking on the phone. She couldn't see his face, as the mirror cut that part off, but she could see that the younger brother was fidgety as well.

"Why Aubrey?" Dean suddenly said, and she snapped back to look at him. He was frowning, but the crease on his forehead eased up eventually and he was setting his phone down, making his way to the bathroom. Aubrey put on her best straight face, and stepped out.

Suffice it to say, Dean looked surprised. She shrugged at him, and he took that as explanation enough. "Come on," he grunted. "Bobby wants to talk to us."

"I gathered that," she said, sighing as she slowly set herself down on the soft bed. Not soon after that, the two brothers emerged from the balcony. There was an air of tension around them that she suspected mainly came from Dean; but she had to admit it, too. Something really had changed with Sam.

They formed a circle around Dean's phone, with Aubrey sitting cross-legged on the bed, and the brothers sitting on adjacent chairs beside each other, Dean holding the phone. He pressed a button; there was a loud beep, and he said, "You're on speaker, Bobby."

Aubrey propped her chin up on her fist, sighing heavily because she knew that Bobby was finally going to snap. _Why do I have to be here though?_

**"Sam? Dean?"** Bobby started, and she pursed her lips. **"I love you like my own. I do. But sometimes…"** There was a pause, and a loud gulp before Bobby continued. **"**_**Sometimes**_**, you two are the whiniest, most **_**self-absorbed**_** sons of bitches I ever met!"** _Very true._ **"**_**I'm **_**selfish? **_**Me**_**?! I do everything for you—everything! You need some lore scrounged up? You need your asses pulled out of the fire? You need someone to bitch to about **_**each other**_**? You call me, and I come through. **_**Every**_**. **_**Damn**_**. **_**Time**_**. And what do I get for it? Jack, with a side of squat!"**

Dean tried to interrupt. "Bobby—"

**"Do I sound like I'm done?!"**

Aubrey cracked a smile, and she was surprised to find that it stayed even when Bobby said her name. **"Now, Aubrey,"** he said. **"You've never called me for much before, and I am goddamn **_**grateful**_** for that, but you're there listening to me bitchin' because I know that you can help 'em. I knew your mother, and let me be the first to tell you that she was with John **_**every step of the way**_**. In fact, in this situation, I'd be her and your two lunatics beside you are John."**

Aubrey chuckled, while resisting the urge to reminisce at the same time. She tilted her head. "I don't doubt that." She _did_, however, doubt that she could help the boys very much. Wasn't she lying to the boys right at that moment, feigning injury when, in fact, the gash was closing itself up already—very, very slowly?

**"Good,"** Bobby said. **"Now, **_**boys**_**, I know you've got issues. **_**God knows**_** I know. But I got a news flash for you. You ain't the center of the universe!" **Sam and Dean glanced up to look at Aubrey, but she raised her hands in guiltlessness. **"Now, it may have slipped your mind that **_**Crowley owns my soul**_**, and the meter is running!"**

_Wait… what?_ Aubrey frowned, confused. "Bobby, what—"

** "And I will be damned if I am gonna sit around and—and be damned!"**

She laughed awkwardly. "You guys are joking, ri—"

** "So, how about you two **_**sack up**_** and help **_**me**_** for once?!"**

_He's not joking._ "You're not joking," Aubrey murmured. She cast Sam and Dean confused looks, sending them silent messages to explain to her what their uncle was talking about, but they held their hands up to her face. She didn't know if it was to tell her to wait, or they wanted her to shut up. Possibly both.

"Bobby," Sam started. His eyebrows were raised and he looked only mildly surprised at the old man's sudden outburst, less so than his brother. "All you got to do is ask."

Beside him, Dean nodded in agreement. "Anything you need, we're there."

Aubrey, though still confused, nodded slowly. "Count on it," she said. "And hey, you'll give me some tips for the boys, right?" No reply. "Right, Bobby?" That was when the line went dead. Aubrey threw her hands up in exasperation, wincing slightly when her wound curved. She looked to Sam and Dean, who were practically rubbing their faces together in a staring contest.

"Hey," she said, raising her voice, making them both turn to her. She pointed at them deviously. "You boys have some explaining to do. Let's start off by: who _the hell_ is Crowley?" Dean's phone buzzed and Aubrey snatched it off the bed before he could, flipping it open to see the text from Bobby. Frowning, she read it out loud: _"Catch a flight to Scotland in the AM. Text ya the details later."_

"Scotland?" Sam asked. "What does Bobby want us to do there?"

Dean shrugged. "I hear there're a lot of spooky haunted houses there."

"I doubt he wants us there to exorcize some family house," Aubrey said, putting the phone down before clasping her hands together and leaning forward. "Now…" She smiled sardonically. "Who's Crowley?"

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**reviews are ALWAYS appreciated.**


	6. Chapter 6

**I DO NOT OWN SUPERNATURAL IN ANY WAY - ONLY MY OC, AUBREY MILLIGAN.**

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"He sounds like a dick," Aubrey remarked, crossing her arms, partly in amusement and partly because she hadn't worn a jacket. She always knew being high up in the mountains of Scotland was cold; but she hadn't expected it to be _freezing_. She didn't know what she was thinking when she decided against not wearing a jacket. _Better for my wound to heal up faster, I said. It'd be worth it, I said._

Beside her, Dean scoffed. "He _is_ a dick." The older brother was holding out his phone, and at the end of the line, Bobby and Crowley's conversation could be heard on speaker.

Aubrey smiled slightly. "I wonder if he's found out yet."

"I doubt it."

She looked around, scanning the mountains and narrowing her eyes at the light fog around them. Scotland was a beautiful place; it really was. When she and the brothers had flown over the place, only a few minutes before touching down, they didn't see buildings or roads or city lights. They saw rivers and lakes and green pastures. _Castles_, even. Aubrey had been more enthusiastic about those more than the rock sculptures. Now, she was standing underneath a large tree in the middle of a graveyard with Sam and Dean, a very specific grave dug up in front of them with the bones of a certain enemy of theirs piled and doused with gasoline. From Dean's phone, they could hear every word in the Bobby-Crowley conversation. And it was all going as planned.

**"… evil, lying prats, the whole lot of 'em,"** Crowley was saying. **"And stupid."** He'd been complaining to Bobby about how hard it was being the new King of Hell, and how completely annoying demons were to him. Didn't he know that none of them could give two shits? **"Try to show them a new way, a better way, and what do you get? Bugger all! You know, there's days that I think Lucifer's whole **_**'Spike anything with black eyes'**_** plan wasn't half bad."**

Aubrey's eyebrows trailed upwards when that was followed by a small laugh. **"Hm,"** the demon said. **"Feels good to get that off my chest. We should make this a thing."** She had already noted the accent, and it made his gravelly voice all the more annoying.

**"Do I look like Dr. **_**Phil**_** to you?"** Bobby asked, sounding cross.

**"A little,"** Crowley replied, and Aubrey could hear the smirk in his voice.** "Anyhoo, obviously not here for a social call, so on with it."** She glanced at Sam and Dean, not believing how clean the whole plan was going. _Nothing_ they'd planned had ever gone through so neatly. But then, this was _Bobby's_ plan.

Bobby cleared his throat. **"I want—"** He trailed off, and Aubrey just assumed that the demon King of Hell had only raised a finger to get the old man silenced. She gritted her teeth and sat herself down on a gravestone, still near enough to hear every word.

**"I'll save you the recap,"** Crowley said. **"In fact, I'll do the short hand for you."** There was a short pause, in which Aubrey frowned and leaned forward. **"I want my soul back, idjit!"** the demon continued, doing an impression of Bobby. **"Afraid not,"** he said, back in his own voice. **"But I'm surly and I got a beard! Gimme!"** Bobby.** "Blah blah blah. Homespun, cornpone insult, witty retort from yours truly. The bottom line is: you get bubkes."** Aubrey was really starting to loathe the demon, but she couldn't help but to admire his humor. **"Are we done?"**

**"Just getting started,"** Bobby replied.

A wave of static ran over the line, but it was expected. "Gavin must be there," Dean remarked softly. Sam nodded his head as the static turned somewhat lighter, enough for them to hear the garbled pieces of conversation between Bobby and Crowley. She guessed that, by the lack of accented insults, their uncle's plan was working perfectly.

When the static eventually faded away, it was almost complete silence at the other end of the line, except for Bobby's voice. He said, **"I know it all now, **_**Fergus**_**. Now, you may be king of the dirtbags here, but… in life? You were nothing but a two-bit tailor who sold his soul in exchange for an extra three inches below the belt."**

Aubrey smirked, shaking her head. There really were some people as selfish and vain as that. She knew that better than anyone. Her smile turned into a frown, and she shook the thought away.

Meanwhile, Crowley was talking again. **"Just trying to hit double digits,"** he said. **"So, you got a glimpse behind the curtain. And?"**

** "And, now, I know where you're planted,"** Bobby answered. Judging by the commotion on the other end, Aubrey assumed it was time for the fun bit. She stood up and made her way to the pile of bones stocked up beside the dug-up grave, where she picked up two pieces she assumed were the fibulas.

Dean watched her with a smirk and placed the phone to his ear. "Hiya, Crowley," he said.

The phone was still on speaker, and Aubrey could hear the snuffed anxiety in the demon's voice when he said, **"Dean. It's been a long time. We should get together."**

"Sure," Dean answered. Aubrey smiled at the smug look on his face. "We'll have to do that when I get back."

**"'Back'?"**

Dean grinned. "Yeah. Me and Sam and our… _old friend_—" he shrugged at Aubrey, who shrugged back. "—we've gone international. In fact, we're in your neck of the woods." He gestured around them for added dramatics, even though the demon couldn't really see them. Aubrey rolled her eyes, rubbing the bones together in her hands and trying to get over the fact that they once belonged to someone who was now King of Hell. Dean continued, "Did you really used to wear a skirt?"

**"A kilt,"** Crowley replied. **"I had very athletic calves."** The irony of the moment was huge for Aubrey, and she bit back a bark of laughter as the demon asked, **"What's the game?"**

"Dominoes," Dean answered quickly. "In fact, we just dug yours up." They all looked down to the pile of bones in front of them. Aubrey stopped rubbing the fibulas together, instead imagining them as a pile of ash.

**"This is ridiculous,"** they heard the King of Hell say over the phone, his voice somewhat fainter. **"The whole burning-bones thing, it's a myth."** Aubrey heard the slight panic in his voice, and gave Bobby a mental pat on the back. _You outdid yourself this time,_ she thought, as if he could hear her from millions of miles away.

An even fainter voice came from over the line. It was Bobby. He said, **"I know an employee of yours who'd disagree."** Now, neither she nor the boys knew anything about _that_, but they deducted enough to know that it had been another stroke of their uncle's sheer brilliance.

After a long pause, Crowley spoke. **"That's where she got to,"** he said. His voice was soft, and minute. Aubrey knew that they'd finally been able to corner him.

**"You demons,"** Bobby said.** "You think you're something special, but you're just spirits—twisted, perverted, **_**evil**_** spirits, but end of the day, you're nothing but ghosts with an ego."** Again, Aubrey gave him a mental pat on the back. **"We torch your bones, **_**you**_** go up in flames."**

Smirking, Dean started flicking his lighter on and off. "You hear that, Crowley?" he said. "That's me flicking my bic for you." At that, Aubrey stepped closer to him and started clacking the fibulas together. Dean grinned. "And that? That's Aubrey playing a little with those _athletic calves_ of yours before they burn up into a pile of _nothing_."

**"**_**Your**_** bones for **_**my**_** soul,"** Bobby said. **"Going once…"** Dean kept a steady pace with flicking his lighter, and Aubrey rapped the bones on her hands together whenever he paused. **"Going twice—"**

There was slight static over the phone, and a loud ringing that caused Dean to pull it away from his ear. He scowled, just when they heard Crowley curse. **"Bollocks!"** he exclaimed. Aubrey stopped tapping the bones together, smiling because she knew that he wouldn't risk anything else for his bones. _Not now._ She set the fibulas down on top of the pile of dug-up bones.

**"You can go ahead and leave in the part about my legs,"** Bobby said. They'd done it. Over the line, they heard a faint hissing sound, followed by a heavy sigh. **"Pleasure doing business with ya."** Aubrey could hear the self-satisfaction in the hillbilly's voice.

**"Now, if you don't mind…"** Crowley trailed off, apparently not needing to finish his statement. Aubrey frowned. After a few moments of silence and anxious waiting, they heard footsteps behind them. She was the first to turn around.

"I believe those are mine," the King of Hell said, stopping abruptly when his eyes caught Aubrey. He wasn't what she expected him to be, with the black tailored suit and hard face, but she didn't seem to be quite what he expected either. He took a slight step back. "What in the _blazes_ are you?!" His eyes were on a very confused, yet slightly anxious Aubrey. Was he the one who was finally going to reveal her secret? She decided not to press it.

She scowled, putting on her best _I'm offended_ look. "Jeez, you don't look too good yourself, hotshot."

The demon approached his bones warily, not taking his eyes off her until he knelt by his bones. That was when he looked down, staring at them with a sort of sadness in his eyes. Aubrey frowned. _Very stupid, feeling sorry for a demon, Aubrey,_ she told herself, fighting the growing pit in her stomach.

As soon as he picked up his skull, though, Dean flicked his lighter on again. "You know, now that I think about it," he said, "Maybe I'll just napalm your ass anyhow."

"Dean…" Sam pushed his brother's hand down, flicking the lighter back off on the way. "He's a dick, but a deal's a deal." Both brothers threw the demon hateful looks, while Aubrey remained neutral. Honestly, was it just her or was she getting soft?

Crowley, however, did not look all too happy. "I don't need you to fight my battles for me, moose. Get bent," he snapped, shooing the brothers farther away from him before continuing to pick up his bones.

_Moose?_ _New nickname for Sammy, then._ Aubrey had to admit, it was smarter than "Gigantor".

The King of Hell brushed the dirt off of his bones almost affectionately, gathering them into his large suitcase before standing up. To her surprise, he regarded Aubrey with curious, narrowed eyes. "Now, if you'll excuse me… I have a little hell to raise." He tilted his head and glanced at Aubrey once more. When she blinked, he was gone.

She released a heavy sigh, relaxing her previously tensed shoulders. Someone cleared their throat beside her, and she turned her head to find both brothers staring at her with suspicious eyes. _Shit…_ Ideas flew through her head in a fast pace, and she desperately clung onto one. She crossed her arms defensively, scowling. "Do I _really_ look that disgusting?" she snapped, feigning anger as best as she could.

Luckily, the boys were tired (apparently) and they gave it up, raising their hands up in innocence before leaning down to pick up their shovels.

Aubrey sighed inwardly, cursing Crowley's name. Two angels had already known what she really was, and one of them was a friggin' archangel. She didn't need the King of Hell to be revealing her secrets _for_ her. The throbbing pain from the gash on her arm had faded away during their hike up the mountains, and below the bandages, Aubrey suspected that only a scar remained as proof that she'd crossed paths with a Lamia. The bruise on her neck had disappeared too, and she thought it lucky that Sam and Dean did not notice.

Leaning down, she picked up her shovel and started throwing dirt back onto the shallow grave with the brothers. And while she did, she wondered how long the time lapses were when Castiel would visit the boys.

_God help me._

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**Aubrey decided that she was not big fans of the Campbells. They were welcoming to her, sure. Hell, they even threw a huge feast as soon as she got Dean back from the nest, yelling congratulations and patting her on the back—as if she was some rookie who'd just gotten back from a first hunt. Was she bitter for thinking that? Probably. But she did her best to hide it when Gwen came walking up to her. Aubrey knew little about Sam and Dean's mother, only that the fire that killed her wasn't an 'accident', and that she was a Campbell.**

** Gwen was a Campbell too; so were Christian, and Mark, and Samuel. Aubrey should have seen all of them as family, as she did with Sam and Dean, and maybe she did—slightly.**

** "Hey, Aubrey!" Gwen said. Aubrey turned around just in time to catch what she had thrown.**

** It was a machete (which was holstered, thankfully); a good one, too, with a rounded point and a padded grip. The holster was thick and brown, and looked to be made of leather. Aubrey had always been jealous of Dean's machete, and had always wanted one for her own.**

** She blinked. "What…?"**

** "A welcoming gift," Gwen explained, smiling slightly at her reaction.**

** "From?"**

** "Christian," she said. "If you ask me, I'd say he's got a little crush on you."**

** Aubrey scoffed. "**_**Really**_**?" She pulled the blade out of the holster and examined it, rolling it over and over in her hands. It was a damn good knife, and maybe there was some truth as to what Gwen had just told her, but she was sceptic as to why Christian would have gotten a crush on her after only such a short time. Perhaps he was one of those guys who liked girls for their looks and not their skills; because after all, he hadn't seen her in the field yet.**

** She looked up, about to ask another question when she saw that Gwen wasn't there anymore. **_**These people drop bombs on you like they're nothing,**_** she thought, sighing. Then she noticed slight movement by the door.**

** Christian was leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed and a devilish smirk on his face. Aubrey stared at him for a moment, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. "Thanks for the, uh…" she trailed off, raising the knife in her hands instead. He nodded his head and was about to say something, but Aubrey had had enough of him for one day. She'd already made her way out the backdoor to where the Impala was parked.**

** The knife grew lighter in her hands. She decided against throwing it away, thinking it best if she had something for close quarter combat like Dean. All that was left was Sam, but something in her told her that the Campbell's had already given him one for himself.**

** Aubrey spotted Dean leaning against the Impala's open trunk, but she stopped when she saw the phone in his hand.**

** "Hey, Lis," he started, a hint of melancholy in his voice. "Uh…" A few seconds passed after that before he turned his phone off and put it back in his pocket.**

** She stepped forward and cleared her throat. His head snapped toward her, and she smiled sadly. "Why didn't you talk to her?"**

** Dean looked down, closing the trunk. "It's not about **_**me**_** not wanting to talk to her, it's…" He pursed his lips. "It's kind of the other way around."**

** Aubrey nodded, slowly making her way towards him before leaning against the trunk as well. "How're you holding up?" she asked, looking to him.**

** "Worse than you are, obviously," he said with a humorless chuckle. She didn't say anything after that, knowing that there was something on his mind, and when it came to Dean Winchester, sometimes it was better to leave him be… Sometimes.**

** "Hey, Dean?" Aubrey said after a while. She wasn't looking at him but she knew that he was looking at her. "You know you can talk to me, right?"**

** His fingers tapped on the trunk thrice before he answered with a simple, "Yeah."**

** "I know that I'm not the most sensitive person in the world and all, and sure, I don't understand most of what happens in the Winchester Digest, but…" She raised her head and met his sad gaze. "I'm not going anywhere."**

** A long silence washed over them, and it was one of those rarer moments where staring at each other wasn't awkward at all. She was the first to look away, sighing heavily. "Not without my car, at least," she said, a smirk already trailing up her lips.**

** Beside her, Dean chuckled. "Remind me not to get you a new one, then."**

** There was the sound of a metal door opening and closing behind them, and they turned around to find Sam walking towards them with his bag slung across his shoulder. Dean immediately straightened up.**

** "How'd it go with Lisa?" Sam asked, frowning slightly.**

** Dean played with the phone in his hands. "It didn't."**

** "I'm sorry," Sam said, pursing his lips. It sounded genuine enough, but his eyes were… different.**

** "Yeah," Dean replied. "At least, uh…" They started their way to the front seats, Aubrey trailing behind them. "You got my back," he finished. "No matter what happens, I can always count on you, right, Sammy?"**

** "Yeah, **_**of course**_**, Dean."**

** And as they opened their doors and entered the car, Aubrey narrowed her eyes because something definitely was not right with the Winchester brothers.**

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**reviews are appreciated. ^^**


	7. Chapter 7

**sad to see that there have been no reviews on this story so far... but i'll keep posting chapters, just for the sake of sharing this story. i worked really hard on it, and would feel horrible if it just got lost and forgotten in my laptop.**

**if you're reading and have been reading for the past six chapters, please review. it would help me out a lot. :(**

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**"Fourth Tragic Suicide"** the newspapers said. It sat on her bed as Aubrey put her clothes on, and she'd been staring at it all morning long. She'd read and reread the article a dozen times already, and the words were practically seared onto her brain.

The room was quiet. Sam had already gone into town, and Dean was in the bathroom taking a shower—which was odd, because normally the boys rarely went investigating without each other. She supposed it was yet again because of Sam's new attitude. Dean had been acting weird around him for the past few weeks every day, and even more when the younger brother wasn't there. He would call Bobby _at least_ five times in two days, and he would always make sure Aubrey wasn't listening in.

She just hoped the boys would talk it out sooner or later, because she honestly couldn't stand being in the same room with both of them without feeling nervous.

The bathroom door opened behind her and Aubrey quickly pulled her shirt down, picking up the towel off the floor before wringing her hair with it. There came a soft grunt from behind her.

"Sorry," Dean said sheepishly, rubbing his face.

Aubrey threw a quick smile over her shoulder at him. (Thankfully, he was clothed.) "S'okay," she said, already having turned back around to face the bed. Dean dropped his towel onto his bed before snatching up his phone from the bedside table. Aubrey sighed, watching him hurriedly walk out the door and into the hallway, where she instantly heard dialling.

It would have been stupid and selfish of her to listen in on his conversations when it was obvious that he didn't want her doing so. For all she knew, he could have finally decided to man up and call Lisa. She smiled at the thought before sitting herself down on the bed and once more picking up the newspaper.

A few minutes passed before Dean came back inside, and it was to Aubrey's surprise that Sam followed behind him.

"Hey, Sam…" She raised an eyebrow. "Back so soon?"

"There was another one," he answered. He was wearing a suit, which was odd because, as Aubrey recalled, he had left only wearing jeans and a T-shirt beneath his regular jacket.

She stood up. "What was it?"

"Dentist _drilled_ a guy to death," Dean answered, closing the door behind them.

Aubrey frowned. "This is the… _non _-sexy kind of drilling, right?"

"50 bucks says he's mixed up in all the crazy," Sam said, a glint in his eye.

"You think?"

"Yeah, let's go talk to him." He had already turned around and opened the door, looking like an excited puppy. And while they were genuinely supposed to be sad and sympathetic about a person dying, they'd just found their first lead.

"Okay, uh…" Aubrey nonchalantly threw the newspaper at him, which he caught. "Why don't you guys go ahead, you know? I'll catch up in a bit. I'm gonna do a little research." She tried to remain as normal and calm as possible, but the looks they were giving her was making it hard.

Dean's, specifically. "You sure?" he asked, glaring at her in a way that said, _Don't leave me with this guy._ She guessed that that was exactly what he was trying to say.

"Yeah," she replied coolly. "You know, you call me, relay some of the info and I'll try and see what I can dig up." She smiled brightly. "Sound cool?" For a moment, she thought they weren't going to buy it. Dean was still glaring at her, while Sam seemed to be contemplating the idea—though he looked sceptic as well. She pursed her lips; honestly, she just wanted the two to finally have some alone time with each other. If they were going to have any sort of awkward conversations in the car, she did _not_ want to be a part of it.

Sam was the first to respond.

"That's actually a good idea," he said, looking at Dean. His brother turned his glare to him. Sam shrugged. "It _would_ make things go a lot faster, Dean."

Dean scowled, but after a while, he nodded his head—reluctantly. "Fine," he said through gritted teeth. "If anything comes up, we'll call you."

Aubrey sat back down on the bed and immediately bent down to get her laptop from below the bed. "Sounds like a plan," she said, keeping her eyes focused on the screen, which was buzzing to life.

She didn't look up again, only doing so when she heard the door close. She sighed heavily, staring at the door before looking back down, opening a browser, and typing in the word **"Doppelganger"**.

* * *

Her phone started buzzing an hour later, and Aubrey picked up on the first ring. "Anything from Marathon Man?" she asked, knowing it was either Sam or Dean. No one else called her except for them and Bobby; the latter rarely did.

**"Not exactly,"** came the reply. It was Sam. **"He hung himself in his cell before I could get to him."**

She sat up straighter. "Yikes."

**"But he was definitely involved. Just got the scoop from his assistant."**

"Yeah?"

**"Yeah. Let's say the stuff that his patient was confessing to—I'd have murdered him too."**

That didn't shock Aubrey any more than it should have. "So, root canal and Russian roulette," she said, thinking deeply. "Both of them, it's like they were cursed, right? I mean, people were just compelled to puke the truth all over them?"

**"Oh, getting hit with the ugly truth, you go postal? I'd call that a curse."** He paused for a moment, and Aubrey heard soft mutterings between him and another person who was possibly Dean. **"Hey,"** he continued. **"I'm going to go to the morgue to check out the body; Dean's heading for the dentist's office to see what he can see. You want him to come pick you up or something?"**

"Nah, I'm good," she replied immediately. "Tell me what you find, 'kay?"

**"Alright."**

The line went dead, and she flipped her phone off. She stared at her laptop screen for a few seconds, scanning over the paragraphs one last time. _Doppelganger…_ The thought of Sam not being the real Sam, and that she was working with him was enough to make her slam the lid down. It probably didn't do her laptop any good, but the stress was getting to her. She set her laptop down beside her and leaned back against her pillow, her hands behind her head as she stared at the ceiling.

At some point, she'd flipped to her side and curled in around herself, and a while after that, Aubrey fell asleep, thinking of everything and at the same time nothing in particular.

* * *

She was awoken by the feel of her phone vibrating sharply beside her head.

Her face was buried beneath her pillow, which she'd placed over her cheek—possibly to block out the light she'd forgotten to flip off.

Aubrey blinked several times, the sleep slowly fading away as the buzzing seemed to get louder in her ears. She snatched up the phone and flipped it open before putting it to her ear. "Yeah?" she grumbled, rubbing her eyes and trying to keep the grogginess out of her voice.

**"I need you to search up something for me,"** Dean's voice came, and the urgency of his request was enough for her to push herself off the bed.

She stood up and started stretching her arms in front of her. "What is it?"

**"Search up 'biblical horns'."**

The way he said it made her chuckle lightly. "Horns, as in…" She thought for a moment. "Bull horns, or—"

**"I mean like the trumpets, the things they use in the—in the orchestras."**

"Oh, _those_ horns." Aubrey sat herself back down on the bed, her laptop already buzzing to life. "Yeah, on it right now."

On the other end, Dean sighed heavily. **"Aubrey, are you drunk?"**

She rolled her eyes. "Why do you guys always assume that? I was _sleeping_."

**"Whatever. Call me when you find something. I'm gonna go get Sam."**

"Got it." She flipped her phone closed and opened a browser. As soon as the search bar popped up, she typed in 'biblical horns' just like Dean had said. She didn't need the boys thinking they were working with some drunk. Although, they really should know better. She didn't drink _that_ much.

The webpage was immediately filled with text, blue ones in thick fonts that indicated they led to other sources. First, she clicked **Ancient Horns**, but when that didn't get her to anything juicy (except that, apparently, there were a _lot_ of ancient horns in Greece and Rome); one other link caught her eye.

She frowned, clicking it. The page on her screen changed. The next moment, she was looking at a black and white picture of an angel with flowing hair wearing a ripped-up dress. He was holding a horn to his lips, with the words "Gabriel's Horn of Truth" typed above the picture in bold letters. Aubrey scrolled down, reading the paragraphs word for word because Sam and Dean would want her to relay everything. It took her a while to reach the end of the page, but when she did, she set her laptop down and picked up her phone. She stood up, already having dialled the older Winchester's phone number and was holding it to her ear.

For some reason, reading about archangels and heaven and ancient horns reminded her of their missing angel friend.

Suddenly, calling Dean didn't seem so important anymore. She flipped her phone closed and threw it onto the bed. Wouldn't it be smarter if they called on an _angel_ for help with heavenly weapons? And after all, Castiel had mentioned that they'd lost some of their weapons during the war upstairs. It was possible that someone had found the Horn of Truth and was using it to commit the killings with the townsfolk. But then… _He's suspicious of me_. Perhaps it was time for them to find out? Castiel, she would tell first, of course, but that would be after she asked him about the Horn of Truth. Work before desire, after all.

Aubrey paced around the room, but had already closed her eyes. "Cas? You there?" She tilted her head to the side, waiting for the sound of flapping angel wings. None came, and she sighed. "Possible loose nuke down here, angelic weapon…? Kinda your department?" A faint breeze blew through the room, which was odd because there were no open windows, as far as Aubrey knew. She cracked one eye open, but then ended up having them both wide and alive because the angel wasn't there.

"Nice." Again, she sighed. She threw herself onto the bed, where her elbow would have hit her laptop if she hadn't curled it over her head. The mattress softened her fall and her body bounced twice before stilling.

That was when she felt eyes on her.

In a moment, she was standing up and had her machete slipped from beneath the mattress, already out of its holster and poised over her head where it would stab any poor bloke who would come near.

Fortunately, she would never even _dream_ of stabbing her favorite angel.

Castiel leaned against the windowsill across the room. His face was serious, but Aubrey could see the slight smile trailing up his lips. "Hello, Aubrey," he said.

"Hi, Cas." She couldn't help but to smile. "Why does it seem like you always come when _I_ call you?" The angel seemed to shrug, but from where she stood, it looked like he only slumped his shoulders forward. Like the last time she'd seen him, he looked exhausted.

She frowned. "I'm guessing things aren't going very great upstairs?"

"They aren't," the angel replied wearily, pushing himself off the windowsill and making his way towards Aubrey.

She sat at the end of her bed, patting the spot beside her. Reluctantly, Castiel sat down. Almost immediately, a soft sigh escaped his lips, as if he'd been deprived of anything soft for ages. For all she knew, he had been.

Aubrey was observing the bags under his eyes when she asked, "What happened?"

His head slumped forward. "I'm at war," he said. "Certain regrettable things are now required of me."

She noted the way he said _regrettable_, imagining with a frown at what he'd been doing during the last couple of weeks. What was war like in heaven?

"Dean's been calling for you," she said. And she knew that it was probably selfish of her, but she felt like she needed to put it out there. The angel met her gaze, and she smiled softly. "Almost every day, now."

"I know," he said, running a hand over his face. "I hear every single one."

"I'd imagine that isn't very fun." Aubrey chuckled lightly, but she turned sober eventually, and the first thing she said was: "And Sam?"

The angel looked at her and shook his head. "I don't know, Aubrey."

"Dean thinks Lucifer's still in him."

"It's not Lucifer," he replied immediately. "If Lucifer had escaped the cage, we'd feel it."

Aubrey shifted closer to him, leaning forward. "What is wrong with him?" she insisted, frowning when the angel shook his head again.

"I don't know, Aubrey," he repeated. "I'm sorry."

When his voice broke, she eased up. Aubrey sat straighter, forcing the look on her face to soften even though her insides were on red alert about _everything_. "And Gabriel's Horn of Truth? That's a real thing?" she said, deciding that it was best to change the subject, but saddening slightly when he perked up at the mention of the Horn.

"You've seen it?" he asked, eyes widening.

She bobbed her head slowly. "We think it's in town. Something's forcing people…" she stopped talking, seeing as the angel was no longer in the room with her.

"You're welcome," she muttered, sheathing her machete and slipping it back beneath the mattress. Once another light breeze entered the room, she turned around and found Castiel once again standing in front of her.

"It isn't the Horn of Truth," he said with a sigh.

Aubrey smiled slightly. "Where'd you look?"

"Everywhere," the angel replied, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. At that moment, he was just like the person Aubrey remembered before the Apocalypse; when they were just hunting down the Trickster in search of the Winchesters (revenge, in Aubrey's case). She missed that person.

"Right," she said, nodding slowly. "Well, what do you think it is?"

"Something very powerful, something you and the brothers should not take lightly."

"Alright, thanks for that." Aubrey turned around, running her hand over her face tiredly. When she felt that the angel still hadn't left, she threw him a glance over her shoulder. "Shouldn't you be getting back up there, or…?" _Aubrey, you have to tell him._ She was unconsciously trying to make him leave again. But he had made it pretty clear that things weren't boding well upstairs. She just wanted to make sure that heaven was going to be blown off the skies before the end of the year.

The angel didn't say anything for a while. Aubrey had already lied back down on the bed when he did.

"Aubrey."

She propped herself up on her elbows. "Yeah?"

"About Sam, I…" he frowned, as if trying to find the right words. "I don't know what's wrong with him, but I do want to help." The corner of his lip twitched up in a small smile before disappearing. "I'll make inquiries."

Aubrey stared at him for a long moment, not saying anything because she knew that her face was contorted into one of gratefulness. She blinked once, and then the angel was gone. So she looked up to the ceiling instead, wishing it wasn't there so that she could look up at the sky.

"Thanks, Cas." _For not demanding from me answers about my soul? Maybe._


	8. Chapter 8

Sam and Dean came back with a little girl's toy box, but inside, Aubrey took out what looked to be a cat's skull. To her horror, Dean said that it was indeed a cat's skull, right before asking her to wash it.

"Why do _I_ have to wash it?" she demanded.

He rolled his eyes. "It probably has all those woman cooties all over it."

"Oh, like you don't like _woman cooties_," she muttered, but otherwise turned the faucet on and placed the skull underneath the torrent of water. She rubbed her thumb over the disturbingly smooth surface, shuddering at how clean it was even _before_ she started washing it.

After towel drying it, she promptly threw it to Dean's face. He caught it, of course, but only barely. He scowled at her before looking down to examine the skull, taking a seat beside his brother. "So this was the chick's pet?"

"Well, she was obsessed," Sam said, typing furiously on his laptop.

Aubrey frowned. "I think you mean 'crazy'." She was leaning over the table, so she could see every single object that the younger brother took out of the box.

He showed them each one. "Alright, so, cat skull, uh…" He raised a bowl full of large seeds. "… grains-of-paradise seed… devil's shoestring." Aubrey stared at the jar full of roots, finding that the weed looked familiar. "Mix 'em well," Sam continued, setting down the objects. "You got yourself a summoning spell."

Dean stared at the laptop's screen, reading the text. Aubrey held her head over the screen and read it upside down. "Demon?" she asked.

"God," Sam said, shaking his head and looking very amused. "Corey was so desperate for the truth about her boyfriend's cheating heart, she went digging around. Nothing panned out, so she went looking for a different kind of help." He handed his laptop to Dean.

"Opened a door she couldn't close," Dean said, nodding in understanding.

Aubrey made her way around the table so that she could read the page properly. "Veritas, Goddess of Truth," she muttered quietly. _We're dealing with a goddess?_ It was going to be a very hard next few days for them, then.

Sam sighed. "Now, anyone in town that asks aloud for the truth invokes Veritas." He took his laptop back. "And she doesn't just give it to you, she _slams_ you with it until you kill yourself and she gets her tribute."

"So, all that "tribute" vanishing from the morgue," Dean started, glancing at Aubrey. "What do you think, uh, Soylent-Green situation?"

She shrugged. "Gods got to eat too, I guess."

"Which means we got to take her out," Sam said, staring at his brother. "Or _you're_ on the menu."

Dean was about to say something but Aubrey had already held a finger up. "Wait, wait, wait, wait, _wait_…" She frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Dean asked for the truth," Sam said simply.

Aubrey raised an eyebrow. "And did you get it?"

Her heartbeat pounded in her ears as the seriousness of the situation dawned on her. She stared as Dean cleared his throat. "Still am," he replied. Something flashed across his face that might have been shame, but Aubrey couldn't be sure. He cleared his throat. "_Anyway_, what else do we know besides crazy cat lady?"

"Well," Sam said. "Dogs are her Achilles heel."

"Naturally." Aubrey chuckled humorlessly, plopping down onto a chair beside the younger brother and putting her legs up.

"And she was a pretty hands-on goddess back in the day," Sam explained. "Her thing was coming down from the mountain to speak truth to the masses. She wanted more than tribute. She wanted to be worshipped."

Aubrey's lip twitched in a small smile when Dean said, "An attention whore."

His brother scoffed. "If you want to put it _that_ way..."

Meanwhile, a crazy idea was springing up in the back of Aubrey's head, like Athena springing out from Zeus' during her birth—she quickly shook the memory away, shuddering before turning her attention back to the two boys thinking deeply. She leaned forward and looked at each of them. "And what is the 21st-century version of speaking truth to the masses?"

* * *

Getting the B-Roll tapes was easy enough, with their fake ID's and believable lies. Aubrey decided against going with them to fetch the tapes, knowing that people always thought it odd that a woman was in the FBI (they probably didn't know that they were being stupid, and that a real FBI woman-agent would kick their ass for even thinking that), but when Sam and Dean got back, the room was ready for a long night watching footage.

There was a chair placed by the foot of the bed, where the laptop was set up and ready. Aubrey knew that Dean would get hungry and therefore she went for a quick grocery raid. On the table by the bed were a couple of bags of chips, their cooler filled with beers, and a plastic bag of burgers.

The brothers smiled at the sight; Dean looked as if he were tearing up. "You really outdid yourself this time, Aub," he said.

Aubrey grinned. "I know. But don't call me that."

Even during the first few minutes of the first tape, she already knew that it was going to be a _much_ longer night than she expected. They might even have to stay up until morning; and though hunters were generally supposed to be used to that, Aubrey didn't like making it a habit. As each tape were at least two hours long, she fell asleep at the sixth, her eyes trailing to the clock above the door and seeing that it was 4 in the morning before they drooped closed.

* * *

She was already coming back to consciousness when she felt the mattress beside her head sink, and her one eye opened to find one of the boys' hands sunk palm-deep in the cushion in front of her face. She slowly opened both eyes, blinking rapidly when she flipped around and found sunlight streaming steadily through the shades.

The room was quiet, but Aubrey could hear the occasional loud slurping (she assumed Dean had bought soda), typing, and a woman talking rapidly, too fast for the words to even be understandable. Through bleary eyes, she looked to the clock above the door again, just as she had before she'd fallen asleep, and saw that it was 9. She'd slept for five hours, and that was enough.

Something fell onto her head. When she brought her hand up groggily, she pulled a slimy piece of tomato off her hair, soaked with mustard and ketchup. Her head snapped to the side and she glared pointedly at a sheepish Dean.

He had condiments stuck to the corners of his mouth, and his cheeks were puffed up. "Sorry," he said, and the word was muffled by the food still in his mouth. He gulped loudly before swiping the back of his hand over his lips. "So how'd you sleep?" he asked quickly, wanting to change the subject.

Aubrey glared at him for a moment more before sighing. "Not too badly," she replied, rubbing her eyes. "Still nothing?"

Sam, who still hadn't moved from his hunched spot at the foot of the bed, glanced over his shoulder to look at her. "Nothing," he said. "And it's already on fast-forward."

"Damn." Aubrey put her arm over her eyes, successfully blocking out the light coming from the windows. She closed her eyes again, about to let sleep overtake her once more when she heard Sam say, "Hold on," followed by the creaking of a chair.

Aubrey frowned and sat up, groaning slightly when she cracked her neck. "What is it?" she asked.

"Check this out," Sam said. She could hear the urgency in his voice, and brought herself to her knees immediately. Beside her, Dean stood up and made his way to the foot of the bed, where he sat beside his brother. With Aubrey kneeling behind them, craning her neck to look at the laptop screen over their shoulders, Sam pressed play.

The video wasn't on fast-forward anymore, and the three of them watched as the female newscaster—her name was Ashley Frank, but if she was who they suspected her to be, Aubrey couldn't give two shits—straightened the lapels of her jacket. A dog was barking by the fence behind her, and she was looking extremely uncomfortable—maybe even _pissed_.

But that wasn't just it. Aubrey noticed something else, and when she did she immediately pressed the space bar. "Zoom in on that," she said, pointing at the woman's eyes.

While Sam did what she said, Dean stared at her in confusion. "What is it?" he asked. She didn't answer, only staring pointedly at the screen, her eyebrows scrunched up in concentration. After a while, the older brother stopped staring, looking to the screen as well. That was when Sam finished zooming in. Before, her eyes had been a dull brown. But on the screen, they saw that the newscaster's eyes were glowing a bright blue. It wasn't the natural beautiful blue (Aubrey frowned when she thought of Castiel immediately after thinking that), it was something… godly.

They stared at the screen for a moment longer before sharing a look with each other, and that was that.

* * *

You'd think that a goddess would take care to see if someone was following her to her grand suite of a home, but the Winchesters and Aubrey did not have a lot of trouble trailing her; though Aubrey suspected that perhaps because it was dark and the Impala was black, and that was why they hadn't been spotted. Luck was a hunter's favorite weapon, after all.

"Looks pretty normal, right?" Sam said.

Dean answered, "I'm sure inside, it's chock full of creep." They watched as the goddess Veritas stepped into her house, where the lights flipped on automatically as soon as she opened the door. Aubrey wondered how it must have felt to live in such a grand place; and she wondered whether a brunette was the goddess' true form, or she had just possessed some poor woman who happened to be rich and a news-anchor.

As the goddess made her way up the spiral staircase, Aubrey leaned into the gap of the boys' seats from the back, taking out the three daggers from their holsters. She held one out to each brother, sighing. "Ready?"

The two nodded once, before Sam took out a large jar of red liquid. "That doesn't happen to be crushed cranberries?" Aubrey said. She pursed her lips when he pulled the lid off and the all-too familiar scent of blood filled the car.

"Dog's blood," he said simply, wrinkling his nose before dipping his knife into the blood.

Dean frowned. "Do I even want to know where you got that?"

"Probably not."

He dipped his knife into the blood as well, glancing at Aubrey. She twirled her blade in the jar, making sure the every inch of the knife was soaked in the liquid before pulling it out, though she made sure none of it dripped onto Dean's seats. "Alright," she said, shrugging apprehensively. "Let's do this."

The three of them opened and closed their doors as quietly as possible, flinching when the close was louder than they'd needed. Aubrey's eyes flickered from every room that was visible, watching out for any possible threat as they made their way to the house. Once inside, none of them wasted any time gawking at the furniture, immediately making for the stairs. The room the steps led to was cement walls, with a pink halo surrounding the whole area. The strong scent of perfume enveloped the three hunters, but only two of them gagged. Aubrey rolled her eyes.

Sam cleared his throat. "So where's all the creep?" he asked. Neither his brother nor Aubrey replied as they walked deeper into the house. At the end of the perfume-filled room, there was a fireplace. Sitting by that fireplace were two cats. They licked their paws, purring, as if the fire offered them more warmth than they already had. One of the cats meowed loudly, staring at the hunters before running off to some other room they didn't know about.

"When in doubt, follow the cat." Dean sighed, already trailing after the feline. Aubrey followed without hesitation.

The cat led them down another spiral flight of stairs, and the air was stuffed by the time they reached the bottom. They seemed to have arrived at the basement, as there were no other staircases in sight, and it was darker than all the rest. _Yup,_ Aubrey thought. _Definitely the basement._ They reached the end of a considerably long hallway and found a stained glass painting attached to the wall, depicting the goddess Veritas herself, and that was when they were _absolutely positive_ that they were on the right track.

Goddesses were known to be vain, yes?

Aubrey turned around, hearing a light scuffling on the floor, and found the orange tabby cat that they'd been following had disappeared into a frosted-glass door. She glanced at Sam and Dean, nodding at each of them, and waiting for them to nod in reply before starting after the cat once more.

As soon as she stepped through the door, the smell of blood and decay immediately seeped into her nose. She flinched slightly at the strong odour, but forged onward. On a metal table at one side of the room sat the remains of a man, though the gender could have easily been overlooked considering he was practically just a lump of meat that happened to have one more remaining arm, surrounded by other hacked-off arms and hands.

To her own surprise, Aubrey thought that that wasn't even the disturbing part.

The disturbing part was the fact that the orange tabby cat they'd been trailing after was sitting on top of the mound, chewing on a small piece of meat. Aubrey wrinkled her nose and wondered if Veritas fed her pets her "leftovers". At the end of the room, directly across Aubrey, was a severely bloodied body that was hanging from a meat hook. It (he) was missing several parts; his left leg, right arm, the meat running down his chest, and his head, to be more specific.

And though she'd seen gorier sights, Aubrey still thought it was disgusting. She turned her head and found _another_ body sitting on a metal table—though this one hadn't been hacked up or chewed on. He was dead, that was for sure. His face was gaunt and pale, and he was naked except for the blanket covering him.

Suddenly, Aubrey heard footsteps echoing behind them. She whirled around before any of the boys did, and found Veritas standing by the door.

She smiled menacingly, saying, "You came for dinner."

Aubrey's mind was only able to process that the goddess was wearing clothes fit for a queen—and that she wasn't wearing glasses anymore—before she was thrown backwards by an unseen force, along with Sam and Dean. She felt her head hit the floor, _hard_, before everything went black.

* * *

**review please. :)**


	9. Chapter 9

When Aubrey came to, her head was throbbing and her hands were tied around something cold and firm behind her back. She immediately started struggling against it, her eyesight slowly turning clearer; but that was when she noticed the wetness pooling by the side of her thighs.

She craned her neck, blinking rapidly, and biting back a startled gasp when she saw the pool of blood beside her. It came from the dismembered body hanging above them, and drops of blood still fell from time to time as she stared at the puddle gathering beside her. It had already reached and soaked through her jeans. Aubrey decided that she was going to throw the pair away as soon as they got free, perhaps even burn it.

Beside her, someone cleared his throat, and she snapped her head to the side, relaxing slightly when she saw that it was Dean. He was to her left, as Sam was to her right, but she noticed just in time that they were both staring at the same exact spot above them.

Her glare was ready when Aubrey slowly raised her head to face the goddess looming over them.

Veritas smiled smugly. "Finally awake, are we?" She was holding a pair of miniature tongs in her hand, and captured within the claws was what looked to be a lump of red… something.

"The tongue is the tastiest part," the goddess said. "It's where the lies roll off." She took a small bite out of the lump of red meat, and Aubrey vomited in her mouth. Veritas, however, looked to be enjoying her treat very much. She made a satisfied sound in the back of her throat before saying, "I cannot wait to eat yours. I mean, I've seen _liars_ before, but you three? Gold standard."

Aubrey rolled her eyes when the goddess set her pair of tongs down, along with the tongue, and watched as she strolled around them with exaggerated finesse.

"Point of professional pride," Dean said, scowling. That was when Aubrey noticed the faint scratching sound.

It wasn't something anyone else would have noticed, as her hearing had increased threefold. She subtly turned her head to the side, the corners of her lips twitching when she found Sam holding a pocketknife in his hands, desperately trying to cut through the ropes holding him. Aubrey's chest swelled with pride, but she held herself down and calmed her heart rate, as well as her mind, to the point that she could hear her heartbeat drumming in her ears in a steady beat.

_I hope this works._

She resisted the urge to close her eyes and concentrated, putting on a look on her face that indicated she was listening to every word that passed, when she had really retreated into the corners of her mind, trying to bring out the heat that was already supposed to be there. She curled her wrists and gripped her bonds tight, as slowly, ever so slowly, warmth started rushing down her arms and to her hands.

Meanwhile, Veritas had come to stand by the pole beside Dean, looking down at him with a glint in her eye. "So," she said. "While you've still got your tongue, God knows you've got an earful."

_Of what?_ Aubrey thought, frowning. The heat in her hands had become quite scorching, and when she heard the ropes starting to sizzle, she gripped them tighter, hoping it would somehow muffle the noise.

"I think it's your turn to spill some," the goddess finished, crouching beside Dean and tilting her head. "How about we play a little Truth… or Truth?" Aubrey's heart dropped when Veritas turned to look at her. "What should we ask Dean first, hm? Something… personal?" Then her eyes flicked to Sam. "About _you_?"

Aubrey looked to the younger brother and found certain coldness in his eyes. She wouldn't have been surprised to find curiosity and anxiety, but there was nothing. Completely blank. Sam met her gaze for only a second before turning back to the goddess; and after a moment, Aubrey did the same.

"Hey, Dean, I'm curious," Veritas started. "What do you _really_ feel about your brother?"

Dean glared at the goddess only for a few seconds before, saying, "Better now. As of yesterday, I wanted to kill him in his sleep."

Veritas threw a smirk to Sam, who looked shocked. Aubrey could see better though. There was still _nothing_, no hint of emotion in his eyes. The heat in her palms burned hotter, and she could feel the first layers of the ropes starting to char.

"I thought he was a monster," Dean continued. "But now, I think…"

He seemed to have been able to choke the words down, but Veritas raised her eyebrows expectantly, saying, "Now, you think what?" And just like that, the spell was back on him.

"He's just acting like me," Dean said.

The goddess shrugged. "What do you mean?"

"It's the gig," he replied, looking utterly downcast. "You're covered in blood until you're covered in your own blood. Half the time, you're about to die, like right now. I told myself I wanted out, that I wanted a family."

"But you were lying," Veritas said. To Aubrey, she looked like a snake poised for the strike.

Dean shook his head. "No," he said. "But what I'm good at is slicing throats. I ain't a father. I'm a killer, and there's no changing that. I know that now."

Aubrey frowned, saddened by the fact that she—yet again—hadn't been able to help with another Winchester problem.

Veritas gave Dean an unfeeling pat on the shoulder before straightening up. "So," she started, that bright, evil smile lighting her face up once more. "Sam walking back into your life must have been a relief." She was still talking to the older brother, who only barely raised his head. "Mallory to your Mickey." She crouched beside Sam, this time, saying, "And how do you feel about the band getting back together? Hm, Sam?"

Sam shifted in his spot on the floor. The pocketknife slicing against the ropes stopped. Aubrey watched with intense curiosity—and anxiety—as he met the goddess' gaze. He set his jaw, and then met Dean's, before looking back to Veritas again. "Look," he started. His voice sounded forced out. "What we do is hard, but… we watch out for each other. And that's what's important." Once again, he met his brother's gaze, and then Aubrey's. Each of them shared a knowing look.

"And that's it," he finished lamely. "That's the truth."

Aubrey was trying hard to hide her grin. Apart from the fact that Sam had just fessed up that he _wasn't_ a soulless person, she could feel the bonds against her wrists loosening up. Soon, the heat would burn through completely. She only hoped that the boys would be there to back her up once she got up.

Veritas was not looking as happy as she was, though. The smugness was all but gone from her face, replaced by bitterness and… confusion? "No…" she said, straightening up, all the while looking coldly at Sam. "No, it's not."

"You said yourself—I can't lie," Sam pointed out.

"How are you doing that?" Veritas demanded. "That's not possible. You're _lying_ to me!" Aubrey glanced to her left and shared a baffled look with Dean.

Sam shouted, "No, I'm not."

"What are you?" Veritas asked, her tone dropping an octave. "What is he?" But she glanced at Aubrey and seemed to notice something off about her as well. She narrowed her eyes, hissing. "And what are _you_?!"

Aubrey didn't know why the goddess hadn't noticed earlier, but she ground her teeth together, willing the ropes to break faster.

In a bold move, she met the goddess' eyes. "I don't know what you're talking about," she said.

"Really? "_I doubt that_," Veritas threw back. "I doubt _anything_ that comes out of your mouths right now!" Her eyes glinted in the dimly lit room, and for a moment, she looked terrifying. "You're not human." Her voice had turned into a whisper, yet the statement was as loud as a coming train. "_Both_ of you are _not_ human."

The goddess pointed an accusing finger at Aubrey and Sam, and to her right, Dean stared. "What?" he said, his voice breaking at the end.

Veritas turned her head, a smile tracing up the corners of her lips. "You didn't know that?" she said. "Now _that_, I believe."

That was when a surge of heat came barreling down Aubrey's arms. It seared through her veins and immediately started burning through the ropes holding her wrists together.

When they fell off, Aubrey barely had time to register in her mind that they were up in flames before she had tackled the goddess to the floor. Behind her, there was some scuffling—and there might have been the sound of a blade skittering across the tiled floor as well—but Aubrey was too caught up in fighting with Veritas to notice.

The goddess could throw a punch; Aubrey had to give her that—though they weren't really _punches_. The sharp bone of knuckles never made contact with Aubrey's jaw, and she was thankful for that, but the goddess had claws just like her cats. She scratched at Aubrey's face, catching her eye. Aubrey howled before the goddess threw her to the floor. Veritas wrapped her hands around Aubrey's neck and pushed down hard, instantly blocking her airways. Aubrey started gasping for air, her fingers clawing at the hands around her throat. To her surprise, the skin on her palms was still tingling with heat, and she immediately grasped at her opponent's hand.

The goddess' skin sizzled. Steam started curling out from beneath Aubrey's hands, and Veritas yelled in surprise, stumbling backwards.

Suddenly, Dean came up from behind her. He stabbed the goddess with a crowbar, and the end tore all the way through her torso. Several drops of blood sprayed onto Aubrey's face, but she didn't look away.

Her hearing must have been better than she realized, because that was when she heard a single footfall behind her.

Aubrey had been pushing herself off the floor to stand, but when she heard it, she threw her head back just in time for Sam to jump over her. He landed square on the space between her legs before stabbing Veritas in the chest.

Dean was gripping her shoulders tight, and only let her go when she fell forward. The goddess would have fell on top of Aubrey if she hadn't rolled away just in time. Veritas landed on the floor with a soft thud, accompanied by the clank of the crowbar (which was still in her stomach) against the tiled floor.

By then, Aubrey had already pushed herself back onto her feet and was staring down at the tip of the dog-blood-soaked dagger. Sam had pushed it into the goddess' body hard enough that the end peeked out, but only barely. Sam exhaled loudly behind her. Aubrey turned around and found the brothers standing together. Sam had three thin, but long, scratches on his cheek, similar to the ones that ran from Aubrey's temple down to her eye. Dean had gained a bruise just below his eye—but other than that, the boys looked no worse for wear.

"Well," Aubrey said, clapping her hands together. "_That_ was unexpected—"

She stopped when Dean held his knife out to her; and though he seemed to have only picked up the blade from a random place, his eyes dared her to take another step forward. She didn't, instead holding her hands up in a sign of surrender—though she'd done nothing wrong…

… Except lie.

The damn Goddess of Truth had revealed her secret. And it wasn't like Dean wasn't already suspicious before; she had noticed the quick glances he threw at her, the questions he asked.

But then she met Sam's gaze for a millisecond, and she thought that it was probably better to have someone jump into a pit of ravenous anacondas pit with you.

Dean's blade shifted from Aubrey to Sam as he slowly advanced. The latter held his hands out to his brother in a sign of good will. "Dean," he said. "It's me."

"You are _not_ my brother," Dean replied gruffly, his jaw set. He turned to Aubrey. "And you are _not_ Aubrey."

She held her breath, deciding against speaking out. Thankfully, Sam did that for her. "Just listen," he said.

"What are you?" Dean yelled. _Is he going to listen, then?_ He made the two back up around a corner, with Aubrey's shoulder grazing the corner.

She scowled slightly but otherwise let the other brother do the talking. "It's me, Dean," Sam said, a pleading tone to his voice. "Look, please, just let me explain."

"Why the hell should I believe anything you say?"

"Okay, okay. You want the truth?" Sam said, starting to panic as they were nearly at the end of the room. A wall was waiting a few feet behind them, and Aubrey wasn't very eager to have her back pressed there. "Here it is, here it is," Sam said. "God's honest."

Dean stopped in his tracks, though his hand never wavered. Aubrey sighed inwardly as Sam continued. "She was right," he said. "There's something wrong with me, really wrong. I've known it for a while." Sam paused for a moment, frowning before: "I lied to you. Yeah. And… I let you get turned by that vamp."

Aubrey turned her head and sent him her best _what the hell_ look. She stopped when she noticed Dean glaring at her, instead casting her eyes to the ground and gritting her teeth.

"I knew there was a cure, Dean," Sam resumed. "And we _needed_ in that nest, and I knew you could handle it!"

"_Handle_ it?!" Dean said, barely keeping his voice down. "I could've died! I could've killed Ben." His voice dropped an octave lower, and in another situation, Aubrey would have started wondering when she would be able to meet the famous Ben and Lisa, but not in that situation. In that situation, she kept her head down and listened as calmly as she could.

"And that should stop me cold." Sam exhaled slowly. "But I… I just don't _feel_ it."

"You what?" Dean's voice broke, and Aubrey snapped her head up, staring at him worriedly. His eyes flickered to her, and he scowled. "How about you? You not '_feeling_' anything either?"

"I can't explain it, Dean." She really couldn't. They didn't know about her, or her past, or her lineage. They didn't even know why she had wanted Gabriel dead so much before. Someone else they knew did, however, and she sighed softly. "But Cas can. Better than I can, I'd expect."

The older brother reeled for a moment, and he lowered his knife ever so slightly. "What would Cas know about it?" he asked.

Aubrey shrugged. "Everything?"

Dean frowned, and confusion came before anger set in once more. He turned to his brother, and nodded for him to continue.

Sam sighed. "Ever since I came back, I am a better hunter than I've ever been. Nothing scares me anymore, because I can't feel it!" He paused for a moment, letting the words sink in. They couldn't quite do so, though. Aubrey furrowed her eyebrows in confusion. _He can't 'feel' it?_ What was that supposed to mean?

"I don't know what's wrong with me," Sam said. "I think… I need help."

He finished his justification with a steady gaze, staring pleadingly at his brother, who didn't look convinced as much as he did upset. Dean lowered his gaze, nodding his head, as if in acceptance. The same frown was on his face, and Aubrey knew him all too well to think that the conversation was over. He did, however, turn around and set his knife down. Beside her, Sam relaxed his tensed shoulders with a loud sigh, and Aubrey did too.

But that was when Dean punched him.

The blow landed hard on Sam's jaw, and it was so hard that he flew backwards onto the pavement behind him. Dean was on him in seconds, holding him to the floor by the scruff of his jacket as his other hand landed blow after blow after blow. With every hit, Sam would pull his head up only to have it pushed back down by Dean's fist. And every time, there was the sound of his temple being hammered against the floor.

For a while, Aubrey could only stare in shock. The boys were inseparable, brothers in blood, loyal to each other; now, one of them was beating the other to the ground bloody. "Dean," she tried to say, though her voice came out hoarse and croaked, too faint to hear against the loud smacking of his fist against Sam's jaw.

She tried again. "Dean." He was already on his eighth punch and she couldn't risk the possibility of having to take Sam to the hospital. "DEAN!" she finally yelled, and it was loud enough that her voice echoed all around the room, seeming to be loudest in the area around the three of them.

Dean had just landed his eleventh punch when he finally stopped, breathing heavily.

As soon as he stopped, Aubrey rushed forward and pushed him away. He didn't fight her; he actually conjoined in her movement and pushed _himself_ off. She heard him say something under his breath, but she was already too busy examining Sam's face to understand what he'd said.

Sam's face was bloody, and bruises were already starting to appear. He had gained several cuts on his cheek and on his brow, and his nose was broken, gushing forth tiny streams of blood from his nostrils. Aubrey was more concerned with the fact that his eyes were closed, though she reassured herself that he was still breathing. Outside, there came the noise of sirens blaring noisily, breaking the silence of the night. Aubrey didn't bring herself to wonder if they were coming for the house, or somewhere else, instead busying herself with heaving the younger brother onto his feet. She supported his full weight as much as she could without crumpling to her knees, draping one of his arms across her shoulders and wrapping her arm around his back.

She turned around and forced her features to go blank. "We should get out of here," she told a fuming Dean. And though she wasn't worried that he would beat her to the ground as well, the look on his face was so foreign to her that she couldn't help but to do a double-take. What had happened to him? What had happened to _them_?

She stared at the brother before raising an eyebrow. He stayed still for a second, boring his eyes into her. Aubrey's legs had been shaking—partly because of Sam's weight and partly because of the sudden dizziness she felt—until Dean finally helped her with her burden, draping his brother's other arm across his shoulders.

"Let's go," he grit out, and though he tried to keep his tone neutral, Aubrey heard the underlying pain.


	10. Chapter 10

**and here is the bottom of the jar of answers i am giving to you readers, about Aubrey. About why my narrations on her have been so suspicious, and confusing, and why she's been acting like Sam, but acting BETTER than him too.**

**i guess some of you had already guessed what was going on with her, but i felt like this was the perfect episode to let the boys know she was something else too.**

**hope you like ^^**

**P.S. IT'S SUMMERRRRRRRRR AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH - and i'm whipping something up.**

**are any of you fans of the X-Men franchise? ;)**

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The room was dark, mostly because Aubrey had told Dean that she was going to try and get some shut eye. On his way to the bathroom, he had turned the lights off, not saying another word before shutting the door behind him. Aubrey didn't smile at this. They had a big problem.

It was early in the AM, but "getting some shut eye" was probably the last thing on her mind at that moment. There was a long list of things she wanted to be doing, and the first was finding out what was wrong with Sam. Second, of course, was finding out what she was going to do with _herself_.

The brothers knew that there was something different about her. The goddess they'd just slayed had told them that Aubrey wasn't 'human'. And though Aubrey found this absurd, it was not a lie. Thoughts tangled together and muddled up in her head, like a great big ball made of rubber band and whatever she did; it only made the knots worse. She groaned inwardly, placing her head in her hands and slowing her breaths. She didn't need panic attacks right now.

_I need help._ At that thought, she raised her head slightly and let her eyes trail off to Sam. _More for him than for me._ He was tied down to a chair at the end of the room by the door, his head drooped low and his eyes closed. Something about the sight made Aubrey's heart drop into her stomach.

"Cas…"

The name slipped out of her mouth before she even realized, but she didn't stop the words that followed. "You mind hitting pause up there for a sec? We, uh…" She released a humorless laugh, before frowning. "_I_ need your help."

There was nothing, but Aubrey didn't give in. _Not yet,_ she told herself.

"It's Sam," she continued. "There's something wrong with him. He's been saying things that just don't make sense. And it's not just him. I made a mistake, Cas. A big mistake. I…"

She trailed off, her head snapping up when the window banged closed across the room. The curtains billowed to the side twice more before settling again. And even though Aubrey wished there was, no one else was in the room with her. She put her head back in her hands, tearing up a little in desperation. "I took it back," she said, the words coming out a whisper. Somehow, she knew he was already listening, that he heard every word. And she wasn't sure if Dean could hear from inside the bathroom either, but she wasn't going to take any chances.

It surprised her that, even in the state her family was in, she was still willing to _try_ and keep her secret from them, to _keep lying_.

Aubrey frowned. "I—"

She stopped as soon as she felt a small gush of wind push her hair back. And it wasn't just that, too. There was another presence in the room; fortunately, an acquainted one. She slowly lifted her head, no longer surprised when she saw the familiar angel in the tan coat.

"Hello, Aubrey."

He was standing only a few feet away from where she sat on the foot of the bed, his hands beside him. In the dimness of the room, Aubrey couldn't read his face. She smiled softly anyway, only grateful that he had come.

"Hey, Cas," she said. The smile disappeared from her face when she heard her voice break.

Apparently, the angel heard as well. Castiel took a single step forward, before frowning, and planting his feet on the ground once more. Confused, Aubrey pushed herself farther up the bed so she could reach the lamp by the side-table. She flipped it on, and a soft light enveloped the room. The look on his face was not one Aubrey was accustomed to. It was very much similar to Dean's when they were still in the goddess' house, and he had just turned around and put his knife down. Before he started punching his brother.

Aubrey didn't think that Castiel would start punching her, yes. But she did have a hunch on why he looked so upset.

She stood up off the bed, leaving the light on. _He knows. You told him. He knows._ Those words kept ringing in her head over and over again whilst she walked to the edge of the bed once more; once she reached it, she crossed her arms over her chest, uncomfortable.

"You took it back," Castiel said, his frown deepening. "Your Power."

Aubrey knew that it wasn't a question, but she was about to say something when the angel shook his head, tearing his gaze away from her to look down at the floor. "You humans never cease to surprise me," he said, coldness biting into every word.

Hurt flared up from Aubrey's chest, but it was more than that too. It was anger, and defensiveness, and confusion, all mixed up into one boiling hot ball of fire that threatened to swallow her whole. It took every inch of her willpower not to either wallow in her own tears begging for forgiveness, or shout in frustration and hurt.

And as Aubrey did neither, she looked away from the angel and strode to the bathroom door, where she knocked loudly three times. "Dean! Cas is here!"

The door opened several seconds later, revealing Dean hand-drying his hands with a towel. Aubrey tried to ignore the obvious discoloration on his knuckles and turned her head, nodding to Castiel, who was waiting in the middle of the room. She never met his eyes.

"You called him?" Dean asked. His voice was hoarse and low, and broke at the last word.

Aubrey ignored that too and nodded her head. "I thought he'd know how to go about this."

Dean frowned. "Go about what?"

Castiel started pacing in front of Sam, examining his face intently. Aubrey stared at the angel thoughtfully, saying, "We _are_ going to question him, right?" From the corner of her eye, she noticed Dean nod his head once before making his way to the two men at the other end of the room. Aubrey grimaced, staying on her spot and leaning against the wall. Dean did the same a little ways behind Castiel, who poked and prodded at Sam.

"What happened to him?" the angel asked.

"Me," Dean answered simply.

"What did he say?"

"Before I beat him up?" Dean shrugged. "Told us that he hasn't been 'feeling'"—he stressed his word—"anything ever since he got back from the Cage. Sounds like bullshit, right?"

Castiel looked up from Sam, craning his neck to stare at Dean. "And that's why you beat him?"

"I was pissed, okay?" Dean yelled, making Aubrey flinch at the sudden outburst. "Can you figure out what's wrong with him or not?"

The angel didn't reply, instead giving Sam a single slap on the cheek. It wasn't hard enough to hurt. He was probably just trying to wake him up. That still didn't erase the fact that Aubrey was worried about the bloody wounds on his face, and his broken nose.

She frowned, straightening up slightly. "He looks bad."

"You're right. He looks terrible," the angel said. The weight on Aubrey's shoulders eased up at the thought that he'd actually acknowledged her, but not noticeably. She could still hear the utter resentment in his voice, and sunk back against the wall.

Meanwhile, Castiel had given Sam another slap, harder now. This time, a low groan escaped Sam's throat. His eyes fluttered slightly, before he raised his head. Aubrey shifted in her spot, watching as the younger brother looked up at the angel, blinking as his eyebrows creased together.

"Cas?" he said, looking confused that the angel was leaning over him. "What's—" Castiel placed his hand over Sam's forehead, his thumb tugging at his temples. "Let me go," Sam grunted uncomfortably.

"Has he been feverish?" Castiel asked, pulling his hand away.

Dean raised his chin from where he stood by the door leading outside. "Have you?" he said.

Sam frowned. "No. Why?"

"Is he speaking in tongues?" the angel asked, right before repeating the same question again to Sam.

"No! What are you…?" Realization flickered over Sam's face, and he took a moment to glance at his brother before looking to the angel hovering above him. "Are you… _diagnosing_ me?"

"You better hope he can," Dean said blankly.

Aubrey threw him a dirty look, before focusing enough to notice that Sam was looking to her now. He started, "You really think that this is—"

"What, you think that there's a clinic out there for people who just pop out of hell wrong?" Dean raised his voice, moving from his spot by the wall to stand behind Castiel. He gestured to the angel. "He asks, you answer, and then you shut your hole. You got it?"

Sam set his jaw as Castiel placed two fingers on his neck, right below his jaw. The angel dropped his hand slowly, and Aubrey watched as he let it dangle by his side uselessly.

"How much do you sleep?" he suddenly asked, catching Aubrey's attention more than his limp arm.

When Sam didn't answer immediately, she pushed off from her spot by the wall and walked towards him, her arms crossed. "How much do you sleep, Sam?" she said sternly. He turned his head to look at her, and she frowned, anxiously repeating the question.

He pursed his lips, saying, "I don't."

"At all?"

"Not since I got back."

Beside her, Castiel exhaled deeply, looking to Dean, who was even _more_ upset than he was before. "And it never occurred to you that there might be something off about that?" he yelled.

"Of course it did, Dean. I—I just…" Sam stumbled over his words, not meeting his brother's gaze. "I just never told you."

Aubrey ran a hand over her face. Why hadn't she put some thought into it sooner? She knew there was something off, and it wasn't just because of the new attitude or everything that's happened. As soon as she saw Sam that first day, she noticed a blank air about him. Normally, there would be an aura around people, a skill Aubrey had acquired due to her newfound prowess.

She cursed silently, putting her hand over her mouth to muffle the word. Castiel stared at her, and she met his gaze. Beneath the tension bubbling between them, there was a knowing. Aubrey assumed that the angel already had an idea on what was wrong with Sam, and she subtly nodded.

Dean noticed. "What is it?" he said.

"Sam…" Castiel started, licking his lips. "What are you feeling, now?"

Sam scoffed. "I feel like my nose is broken."

"No, that's a physical sensation." The angel tilted his head. "How do you _feel_?"

"Well, I think—"

"_Feel_," Aubrey interrupted gently.

Sam looked to her, his forehead creasing. "I don't know."

Aubrey nodded slowly, starting to understand; to her right, Castiel and Dean shared a look before the angel started unbuckling his belt. Sam's eyes widened. "What? Uh…"

Meanwhile, being the only girl in the group, Aubrey's first instinct was to look away. She closed her eyes almost immediately, irrationality taking over as she _actually thought_ that Castiel was going to take his pants off next.

But he didn't. Instead, he placed his belt between Sam's teeth. "This will be unpleasant," he said. "Bite down on this."

Aubrey slowly opened her eyes as Castiel placed a large hand on the younger brother's shoulder and said, "If there's someplace that you find soothing, you should go there. In your mind."

Sam looked scared, and Aubrey presumed that she did as well. She looked on in horror as the angel pushed his hand into Sam's chest, right between his ribcage. Sam started groaning loudly in pain, biting down hard on the belt between his teeth as Castiel pushed his hand deeper. Sam's skin started glowing red as fiery veins popped up from his neck, reaching his temples.

When the angel finally pulled his hand out, the belt dropped from Sam's mouth. He gasped for air, his eyes wide and dazed. Castiel took his belt, but didn't put it back on. He turned away from Sam and faced Dean, who asked, "Did you find anything?" with the slightest hint of hope in his voice.

"No," the angel replied.

Dean looked on expectantly. "So that's good news?"

"It's not," Aubrey said abruptly, making both men turn to her. The truth was slowly dawning over her, and she was staring at Sam, trying to bring herself to believe it.

Dean stepped up closer to her. "Aubrey, what's—"

"He's perfectly healthy," she said, cutting him off. "Physically, anyway, but inside…" She trailed off, raising her head to meet Castiel's gaze.

He looked seriously at her, and during that moment, all anger was gone. "It's his soul," he said, not taking his eyes off her as he answered for her. "It's gone."

All of them reflexively looked down at Sam, who returned their stares with wide eyes. "What?" he said, not at all looking completely shocked about it. No one answered anyway.

Dean turned around and paced slowly. "I—I'm sorry. One more time. Like I'm 5. What do you mean he's got no—"

"Somehow," Castiel cut in. "When Sam was resurrected, it was without his soul."

"So, where is it?"

"My guess is: still in the cage with Michael and Lucifer."

"So, is he even still Sam?"

"Well," the angel started, glancing at Sam. "You pose an interesting philosophical question."

Aubrey watched as Sam raised his head hopefully. She was the only one who hadn't looked away from the brother tied to a chair. She stared down at him, eyebrows scrunched up together thoughtfully. She wondered about all kinds of things; like if souls could be in pain in hell, or if it was possible for Lucifer to be torturing him down there, or if Michael was even _trying_ to protect Sam.

She stopped wondering when Dean spoke again. He said, "Well, then just get it back." Aubrey turned around and gazed at Castiel expectantly.

The angel cleared his throat. "Dean."

"You pulled me out," the older brother prompted.

"It took several _angels_ to rescue you, and you weren't nearly as well guarded," Cas pointed out. "Sam's _soul_ is in _Lucifer's cage_. There's a difference, a big difference. It's not possible."

Aubrey shook her head, frowning. "There's got to be a way."

Castiel turned around and looked at her with stern eyes. She stared back, with a hopeful glint in her eyes. The angel slowly shook his head, and Aubrey frowned. Behind them, Sam shifted in his seat. "So," he said. "Are you gonna untie me?"

"No," Aubrey and Dean answered at the same time. They did not glance at each other.

Sam pursed his lips. "Listen, I'm not gonna—"

"Sam, how am I even supposed to let you out of this room?" Dean stepped forward towards his brother, and Aubrey and Cas took two steps back to give them room.

"Dean, I'm not some psycho. I didn't want you to get _hurt_. I was just trying to stop the vamps." Sam sighed. "I'm sorry. It won't ever happen again. Please let me go."

For a moment, Dean looked like he was considering the idea. But then: "You're kidding, right?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "Well, what are you gonna do, just keep me locked up in here forever?"

"You say that like it's a bad thing." Dean turned around and walked back to stand beside Castiel and Aubrey, who were watching the events unfolding with serious eyes.

"Okay, fine, look, I get it," Sam said. "I get it, Dean. I was wrong. But I'm telling you, I'm trying to get right. It's still me."

Dean raised his chin. "Is it?"

"Yes," Sam replied immediately. "So just let me go."

"No way in hell."

Behind them, Aubrey pursed her lips. "Dean, maybe we should—"

"_No_." Dean cut her off, looking at her sternly. She glared at him but kept her mouth shut.

Her eyes flicked back to Sam when he said, "I didn't want it to come to this." With that, he visibly gave the ropes tying his hands down a massive tug before they fell apart behind him. He stood up, throwing his bonds to the floor. "You're not gonna hold me, Dean—not here, not in a panic room, not anywhere," he said. Aubrey was still wondering what knot Dean had used, since it was _clearly_ lame. She stared at Sam. "You're stuck with the soulless guy, so you might as well work _with_ me. Let's fix this."

Dean walked forward until he was eye to eye with his brother. "I'm gonna be watching every move you make."

"Fine. Sounds about right to me."

His voice broke when Dean said, "Cas, clean him up."

The angel stepped up from beside Aubrey, but she didn't stay to watch. She turned around and immediately went for the door. "So, where to next—?"

A hand stopped her from pulling it open; Dean's, to be exact. He glared at her, his jaw set and his hand placed firmly against the wood of the door, keeping her from escaping.

He growled. "We're not finished yet."

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**reviews make my day brighter~~**


	11. Chapter 11

**BOOM there you go, answers given.**

**now about that X-Men thing I'm working on... basically it's just another one of my typical OC-inserts, but it takes place during the timeline of First Class. I'm planning that it will go all the way to Apocalypse before i bring it to a close. (How, I still have no idea.)**

**but if any of you guys are interested, feel free to review or PM me about it, so i have something to look forward to. ^^**

**on with THIS story!**

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_His voice broke when Dean said, "Cas, clean him up."_

_ The angel stepped up from beside Aubrey, but she didn't stay to watch. She turned around and immediately went for the door. "So, where to next—?"_

_ A hand stopped her from pulling it open; Dean's, to be exact. He glared at her, his jaw set and his hand placed firmly against the wood of the door, keeping her from escaping._

_ He growled. "We're not finished yet."_

Aubrey took a slow step back, wringing her wrists because she knew that they were going to interrogate her next. Why had she been so stupid as to think they would forget about her? Making for the door might have only made her situation worse.

She held her hands up. "Dean—"

"What are you?" he demanded in a loud voice. Aubrey was only half aware of the two sets of eyes watching from behind her as she backed up.

She sighed. "You're not doing this again."

"I've been lied to by enough people, Aubrey," Dean yelled, but his voice dropped an octave when he said to her, "I won't be lied to by _you_, of _all people_."

An ache settled within the confines of her heart when he said that, and she smiled sadly. "You're right. I shouldn't have lied."

"What are you?" he repeated, calmer this time.

Aubrey rolled her shoulders. "You're sure?" She wasn't sure why she'd asked that; maybe she was talking to herself.

Dean scowled in confusion. "Yes, I'm _sure_."

She took a deep breath, running over the words in her head another three times before finally saying, "I'm a Phoenix, Dean."

"Don't be stupid. Those aren't real."

The corners of her lips twitched up in a smile at his bluntness, but she continued, and she told herself not to stop until the full explanation was done. "My lineage was one of the first of God's creations in all of history, only a few ways after He created angels." Her eyes flickered to Castiel, but his back was turned to her, and she gulped, thinking that he was purposefully doing so. Even Sam was listening in.

"You know that great big fiery bird people talk about in myths right?"

Dean nodded his head slowly.

"That's what I am, but obviously I'm not a bird. And when Phoenixes die," Aubrey continued, "their souls are reborn into the world again via another person. So, in some ways, I'm about a billion years old." She watched as Dean shifted from foot to foot after hearing this, smiling softly. "My mom always used to tell me that I was something special. That was before she died."

Sam frowned. "You never told us who killed her."

"It was Gabriel," she answered immediately, taking in the baffled expressions on the boys' faces before continuing. "Long story short, he was a friend of my mother's. I knew him, remembered his face when we were hunting him _ages_ ago, and wanted revenge. That was when he told me that he stole my Power—capital P—when he had killed my mother when I was a child. Apparently, heaven's look on Phoenixes has changed over the past couple of millennia, and almost all of them think of me as a threat, that my kind is going to destroy the world or something."

"_Almost _all of them?" Dean cut in, raising an eyebrow.

Aubrey glanced at the angel—who was still looking away—in reply, and that seemed to be enough for Dean. She continued, "When me and Cas saved you from him, from Gabriel, he handed me back my Power."

"The vial?"

"Yes." She nodded her head. "But I didn't take it back until several months ago, while I was driving back from that Cupid case we worked on."

Dean scowled. "If heaven wants you dead, why'd you give them a good_ reason_?"

In all honesty, Aubrey didn't want to remember the events that happened after the crash, the pain. But she had to, for the sake of Dean's sanity, which she appreciated very much. She pursed her lips and went for it: "I got into a car crash. Of course, I went to a hospital and the doctors dosed me up with drugs. There was a lot of pain, but long story short, they didn't think I was going to make it."

The boys stared at her with wide, unbelieving eyes, and she could have laughed at their expressions if it wasn't for the distant memories. "Phoenixes have super healing," she explained, shedding one half of her jacket off to show them the gash she'd obtained a month ago with the Lamia. "This healed up only after a few hours. So did my lungs, stomach, and ribs right after I took back my Power."

Sam stepped up to stand beside his brother, who shifted uncomfortably. "You didn't want to die," he said.

Aubrey bobbed her head once. "I didn't want to die."

The boys looked convinced, which Aubrey was thankful for. They trusted her enough to tell the truth, which was more than anyone had done for her.

"Why didn't you tell us?" Dean asked.

"I thought you'd think I was selfish or something." She shrugged, looking to the angel in the room. "God knows someone already does."

Some part of her wanted him to acknowledge what she'd just said, but he showed no signs of doing so. Aubrey sighed and turned her head back to Sam and Dean. "And about that 'pure soul' crap Balthazar was going on about? I'm just assuming that it was has something to do with the, you know…" She paused, trying to think of the right words. "… The great big fiery bird inside of me"—it was as good an explanation as any—"But other than that I'm pretty sure I'm as unholy as the grave."

For some reason, that made Castiel turn around. His face was cold, but Aubrey could see the emotions raging behind his eyes. "Balthazar did not mean that you have a pure soul. He meant something very far from that, actually."

Aubrey feigned relief. "Joy," she muttered. "What'd he mean then?"

"He meant that you have the Gifts of the Holy Spirit."

"I believe in God and all," Aubrey replied, biting her lip and barely holding back a bout of laughter. "But I'm not actually the kind of person who 'fears' him. In fact, I'd kick his ass right now if I could."

If the angel was angered by this, he didn't show it. He merely took a single step forward. "Wisdom, understanding, counsel, knowledge, fortitude, piety, and Fear of the Lord; these are the gifts of the Holy Spirit."

"Wisdom and piety, eh? I got none of those." Aubrey raised an eyebrow. "I'm pretty sure the Holy Spirit isn't real either."

That was when something flashed across his face, something that looked too close to anger; but other than that, there was _betrayal_. And something told Aubrey that it wasn't because she called the Holy Spirit a myth.

Castiel took a step towards her, closing the distance between them while folding his sleeve up to his elbow.

Aubrey took a step back. "Cas?" she said carefully. "What are you doing?"

"Making sure." In a moment, he was in front of her. A small gust of wind pushed her hair back, and Aubrey barely had time to register that she had seen a glimpse of two black wings sprouting from his back—they might have been real, they might have been not—before the angel pushed his hand into her chest.

The pain was surreal. Imagine a large hand-shaped trademark being branded onto one's chest. Now, imagine the iron going right through the skin. Now, imagine feeling it three times over at the same time. That was how excruciating it was.

Castiel hadn't given her a belt to bite down on like he did with Sam. It was a miracle Aubrey hadn't started yelling her lungs out. She forced her throat to close so that only tiny whimpers escaped her mouth. Her knees buckled, but she kept herself up by gripping the closest thing in front of her, and that was the angel's arm. She clawed at it, trying to push it away but the pain kept her from using her full strength. The heat had increased another threefold and had travelled up to her neck. It was still worst at her heart.

When Castiel finally pulled his hand out, Aubrey crumpled to her knees, gasping for air. As the seconds passed, her lungs cooled and the heat in her chest subsided; but she could still feel her heart pounding away. The angel's feet were still planted in front of her, and as she slowly stood up, she glared up at him, feeling nothing else but her own fury. "You son of a bitch…"

She punched him, then, forcing out all her anger to that one hit. His head snapped to the side, and fourteen months ago, Aubrey's hand would have been broken, but now there was only a dull throbbing in her knuckles. Castiel brought his hand up to his jaw, his eyebrows creased together.

Behind them, Dean stepped forward. "That actually hurt?" he asked.

Castiel nodded his head and dropped his hand. "Phoenixes are equal with angels in terms of strength."

"You got that right," Aubrey snapped. She was barely able to rein her anger in, but when she did, she forced herself to look away from the angel, instead keeping her eyes trained on the two brothers. "Are we done here? Because as I recall, we still have to get Sam's soul back."

Dean stared at her carefully. "If we're supposed to figure _that_ out, we need to find who yanked him out." He looked to Sam. "You say you don't know?"

Sam shook his head. "No idea."

"Then we start a list," Dean said. "If it's so hard to spring someone out of the box, then who's got that kind of muscle?" And while he looked to Cas, Aubrey didn't. She kept her eyes straight, even when his voice resounded in her ears.

"I don't know," the angel said. "You have no memory of your resurrection?"

"I woke up in a field," Sam replied. "That's all I got."

"No clues?" Castiel prompted. "None?"

Aubrey turned her head, making sure that she didn't meet the angel's gaze, and stared expectantly at Sam. He frowned, before shrugging. "I've got one."

It was lucky—but not effective—that Aubrey hadn't been the only one who was _not_ looking forward to see the Campbell's again, though she felt more so than Dean, who only agreed to go to the base to talk to Samuel. Both he and Sam were sure that the old man could give them some important clues about where Sam's soul could be. Although, Aubrey wasn't sure if she felt awkward because of the fact that she barely knew any of the people in the base, or because of Christian.

She'd found out a few weeks ago from Gwen Campbell that a particular cousin of Sam and Dean's had a crush on her. And it wasn't that she wasn't flattered or anything. Aubrey just knew that Christian was a prick, and she knew absolutely nothing else about him except that Dean hated his guts. There was something off about him too. Like how she'd felt something off about Sam, how she could feel the emptiness surrounding him, and how she could sense the auras around every person; Aubrey could feel something dark about Christian. She couldn't really see it as much as she could _feel_ it, because truthfully the guy seemed cool enough (but Dean still hated his guts).

That was exactly the reason why sitting on a bench with him while the Winchesters and Castiel interrogated Samuel inside his office was _not_ cool.

The whole thing was awkward, and while Aubrey desperately tried to focus on the bottle of beer in her hands, she could feel his gaze boring into the side of her head. He was staring, and even though she wasn't looking, Aubrey already knew that the corners of his lips were pulled up in a lustful smile.

"Has it been helping at all?" he suddenly asked. Aubrey turned her head and raised an eyebrow. He smiled, nodding at the knife holster by her side. "My gift."

"Yeah." She forced herself to smile back, patting the machete. "Yeah, it's been a _ton_ of help, got us out of a lot of tough spots and whatnot."

"That's good," Christian said, bobbing his head. From the corner of her eye, she could see that he was still staring at her.

She sighed, letting her eyes flutter closed in exasperation before opening them again as she turned her head. "What?"

"What, what?" He grinned.

Aubrey steeled her gaze, pushing away the urge to roll her eyes. "Why are you staring at me?"

Christian stared at her for another five seconds before grinning again. "Because you're really pretty."

This time, Aubrey laughed. She didn't know why. Hearing someone say it to her _directly_ just seemed so absurd and stupid that she couldn't help it. Her giggles resonated all throughout the room, making people throw odd glances at the two of them sitting on the bench. Eventually, she sobered up, but her shoulders continued shaking in her mirth. "I'm 'really pretty'," she repeated, smiling from ear to ear with tears in her eyes.

Christian bobbed his head, but looked confused. "What's so funny?"

"Nothing. It's just…" Aubrey trailed off, falling into another fit of giggles. "It sounds so silly," she was able to say in-between chortles. She took a deep breath in an effort to calm herself.

That was when they heard a man's screams echo all across the room. In a moment, all amusement and hilarity was gone from Aubrey's senses.

The dozens of hunters sitting in tables raised their heads, but she and Christian were the first to stand, Aubrey with her machete and Christian with his shotgun. They immediately made for Samuel's office, for the yelling sounded too familiar that it must have been either him, or Sam. Either way, it wouldn't have been good.

That was why it was to Aubrey's utter surprise and confusion that when they barreled through the door to the old man's office, they found four instead of three men in the room, and one of them was an angel.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Sam exclaimed. Both he and his brother held their hands up carefully towards her and Christian. "It's okay. It's okay."

Beside her, Christian dipped the barrel of his shotgun down. Aubrey dropped her arm but didn't sheathe her machete, eyeing the angel across the room with suspicious eyes.

"What the hell?" Christian said, staring at Castiel as well, who was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed in front of him. He hadn't been with them during the drive into the base, which Aubrey supposed she was thankful for.

Dean gestured to the angel. "Angel cavity search."

From behind the table, Samuel Campbell was facing away from them. He was holding one arm across his chest and breathing very heavily. Aubrey frowned sympathetically, knowing that Castiel had once again pushed his hand into another poor person's chest.

"I'm fine, Christian," Samuel said, looking over his shoulder. His face was red. "Just give us a minute."

Christian looked unsure. His eyes trailed from Samuel, to Cas, to Dean. "But—"

"Just give us a minute," Samuel repeated, and that was enough. Reluctantly, Christian nodded his head and turned for the door. At the last second, he looked over his shoulder and stared expectantly at Aubrey, who shook her head.

"I'll stay here," she told him. He frowned, and she resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "Go wait outside, _Christian_."

The frown didn't leave his face, but he stepped out and closed the door behind him anyway. Aubrey sighed, sheathing her machete and scratching the side of her head as she mumbled to herself, "I swear, that guy is like a lost dog."

Samuel heard. "Only sometimes," he said, making Aubrey smile slightly. He nodded at her. "Aubrey."

"Samuel."

He straightened up and put his hands on his hips, still gasping for air. "What the hell was that about?"

"His soul is intact," Castiel spoke, stepping away from the old man. Aubrey purposefully kept her eyes on the Campbell, not wanting to look at the angel any longer than she needed to. Something in her told her that it went both ways.

"What?" Samuel asked. "Of course I have a—" He was cut short when Castiel threw a glance at Sam. After half a minute, Aubrey was the only one with her eyes on the ground. "What's going on, Sam?" Samuel said, staring pleadingly at the younger brother.

Sam shrugged his shoulders. "Whatever dragged me out left a piece behind." He frowned when Samuel exhaled loudly. He said, "Did you know?"

"No," Samuel answered immediately. "But I…" He trailed off, his eyes dropping to the floor. "I knew it was something. I…" He shook his head, finally meeting Sam's gaze. "You're a hell of a hunter, Sam, but the truth is, sometimes you scare me."

Aubrey pursed her lips, keeping her eyes down as, beside her, Sam's shoulders drooped.

"So, what's the deal here?" Samuel continued, looking to Aubrey. "How do we fix this? How do we get his soul back?"

"We don't know yet," she replied. "But we have to."

He nodded vigorously. "Well, I'm here to help, of course. What leads you working?"

"A bunch of dead ends, and you," Sam said.

"Well then, we'll just have to dig."

Aubrey did her best to keep from looking to the angel at the end of the room, though from the corners of her eyes, she could see that he was no longer interested in the present conversation. He was looking out the window with his chin up, and Aubrey was sure that he was staring at the heavens. "Sam, Dean," he abruptly said. "I have to get back."

Dean frowned. "You're leaving?"

"I'm in the middle of the civil war," Castiel replied sternly, turning away from the window.

"You better tear the attic up," Aubrey cut in, taking a step forward and staring him in the eye. "Find something to help Sam."

"Of course, because your problems always come first," the angel said coldly. She returned his glare, but he was the first to look away, turning to Sam and Dean. "I'll be in touch."

With that, and the faint sound of fluttering wings (it was louder and clearer to Aubrey), Castiel was gone. Aubrey's shoulders relaxed and she released a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. She sighed, closing her eyes and calming her mind. But that was when she felt stares boring into the back of her head, and she turned around to find three hunters staring at her, Samuel's more confused than the other two.

"What was that about?" he asked.

"Ongoing feud," Aubrey replied nonchalantly, raising an eyebrow when the old man frowned. _I bet he never thought angels could even get mad._

He nodded slowly. "I would have asked him to stick around for a beer."

"Wouldn't have been worth it," Aubrey said. "Anyway, what's with the book club outside?"

"Putting together a hunt."

Dean frowned. "That's a lot of guys for one hunt."

Beside him, Sam started back, and Aubrey craned her neck to find a slight smile on his face. "You found him, didn't you?" he said.

"Who?" Dean asked.

"He's got a lead on the Alpha vamp," Sam answered, narrowing his eyes.

Aubrey did the same. "Do you?" She'd been waiting for the chance to kick the thing's ass. Their problem was that they never found it. Now that they did, she was pumped.

"Maybe," Samuel said. Aubrey was positive that even Dean could hear the faint excitement in his voice. The old hunter raised his head. "Yeah."

"How'd you find him?" Dean questioned, a suspicious tone creeping into his voice. Aubrey stepped forward, mildly curious as well.

Samuel took out a machete (which was very similar to Aubrey's) out of his duffel bag, smirking. "We're good," he said.

Dean tilted his head. "That's all I get? 'We're good'?"

In other situations, Aubrey would have been as suspicious as he was, but even she was excited to finally have a lead on the Alpha. She'd been waiting for revenge ever since Dean got turned, and Aubrey was known for her grudges. But she kept in mind the weed of distrust in her heart as Samuel didn't say anything else about how they had tracked the Alpha. In fact, he had lowered his eyes as soon as Dean had asked. Aubrey decided to stick to the status quo, but keep her eyes open to the possibilities as well.

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**p.s.**

**considering the height of Christian's infatuation with Aubrey, i swear that i won't let it go too far. and for those who have watched the series, "You're really pretty" means something more than him just pertaining to her face. ;)**

**REVIEWS ARE LOVE. REVIEWS ARE LIFE.**


	12. Chapter 12

**apologies for the late update. sort of slipped my mind...**

**I DO NOT OWN SUPERNATURAL OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS; only my OC, Aubrey Milligan.**

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Riding in the same car with the Winchesters had never been awkward before, but Aubrey supposed that she had a good reason to feel that way as they drove to the (supposed) Alpha-house.

It was still dark out when the Campbell's had told her to get ready, and that hadn't changed when they left the base. An hour and a half had already gone by, and luckily by then the sun had come up, illuminating the dark interior of the Impala. The light didn't make the air inside any less tense. The silence was deafening, along with Dean's rock music album screeching along in the background. Very frequently, Sam would try to ask if they could go on radio—to "check if any weird stuff was going on"—but Dean would just throw his brother a glare, an expression he seemed to have perfected, and that would be the end of it.

It didn't take much of Aubrey's skills of deduction to know that the guy was still angry. She couldn't really blame him though. Lying was never a good thing to do; but in a hunter's life, it was always necessary.

And Dean was right, too. _"I've been lied to by enough people. Aubrey."_ Sam had lied to him; Samuel had lied to him; even Aubrey knew that his own father, John Winchester, had lied to him as well. That was exactly why she absolutely _abhorred_ herself for what she did.

Lying to a stranger obviously wouldn't have a similarly strong effect on Aubrey, _but_ _lying to Dean?_ Someone she'd looked up to and adored almost all her life? Someone she'd almost lost time and time again? Someone she'd come to call "brother"? It was a whole new level of selfish, and Aubrey didn't want to be too high on the list of "people the Winchesters wanted to kill". In fact, she didn't want to be on any of their lists. She just wanted to be Aubrey to them, like how it had always been.

Her head was bowed low, watching herself fiddle with her fingers when, out of the blue, Dean spoke up:

"I get why you did it."

Aubrey raised her head. Her fingers stopped moving and the Aerosmith song playing on the stereo seemed to die down, though it was only really her heartbeat pumping loudly in her ears that blocked out the nose. She made what sounded like a squeaky sound from the back of her throat—something that was meant to be a question but died out in her throat anyway.

"I get it," Dean repeated, glancing over his shoulder for a moment. "I get why you took your Power back." Aubrey didn't say anything but, as subtly as she could, kept staring at the older brother, waiting for him to say more. Beside him, Sam was looking out his window, seeming as if he wasn't listening in even though Aubrey was sure that he was.

"You didn't want to die," Dean continued. "And I respect that. Actually, now that I think about it, I would have done the same if I had the choice."

That was when Sam turned his head and gazed at his brother with a frown on his face. Aubrey raised an eyebrow and said, "Really?"

"Look," Dean started. (Aubrey could hear the hint of growing impatience in his voice, and made a mental note to _not_ completely blow her chances of ever getting redemption.) "I'm happy that you didn't die. I really am. But I don't think it was absolutely necessary to start lying to my face about it."

"Dean—"

"We've been friends for as long as I can remember, Aub,"—she bit the inside of her mouth and resisted the urge to tell him out on using the nickname she'd always hated—"And I have _never_ lied to you. About anything."

He was an octave away from yelling, now, and Aubrey made sure to keep her voice low and gentle when she spoke, because she didn't want to get into another car crash so soon. "Yes, but you have been lying to Sam." She took a quick glance at the other brother in the shotgun seat. "And you haven't been telling me everything."

"Sam's different. We lie to each other practically on a daily basis," Dean retorted, raising his voice. "And what the hell are you talking about? We tell you everything!"

"You didn't tell me about Crowley, or how he _used to_ own Bobby's soul." Aubrey wrung her wrists together in nervousness, slowly becoming aware of how she had just changed the course of the conversation.

Dean scoffed. "We already took care of that problem. What we should be talking about _now_ is the obvious lack of _trust_."

That shut her up. Aubrey opened her mouth more times than she needed to, about to say something but finding the words catching in her throat. They wouldn't have made any sense. And why was she getting so defensive anyway? She _deserved_ this lecture. With her eyes downcast, Aubrey listened to every word Dean said next, feeling the unfamiliar feeling of guilt in her chest.

"If things are ever going to go back to the way they were, no more lies," he said. "Okay? No more lies from _any of us_." He looked to Sam, and Aubrey couldn't blame him. After all, Sam didn't have his soul (currently). Wouldn't that stop him from keeping his morals?

Dean continued. "If any of us find out that there's a liar, we—"

"Three punches."

The brothers turned their gazes to Aubrey, who had said the words. "If any of us find out that there's a liar, that liar gets three punches." She smirked lightly. "Each."

On the front seat, Sam turned back around to face the road. He visibly shrugged. "Sounds good enough."

Dean turned around as well, although before he did, Aubrey saw the smallest traces of a smile on his face. He said, "Deal."

The car was enveloped in silence after that, and a Guns N' Roses song came playing in the background. As Aubrey was in a considerably lighter mood than before, she started humming to the song, occasionally singing the lyrics out loud, but whenever she did, she made sure that her voice was small and not at all asking for attention. Somewhere between the song, however, Dean started singing along as well, though his voice was much louder than Aubrey's. In fact, he was practically shouting, but then again, that was what the lead singer was doing. Not soon after, Sam joined in, albeit reluctantly.

Aubrey smiled in glee and pride. In the back of her mind, she told herself that there was still hope. _Just don't lie to them again and everything will go smoothly._

One and a half of a rock album after that (to which Aubrey and Dean knew every word of), the five cars they had been trailing stopped. Dean followed suit, pulling the Impala to a stop.

"_—it's less dangerous! Here we are now, entertain us—_" Aubrey cut herself off, noticing Dean's movements. She frowned and asked, "We're here?"

"We're here," he confirmed, sighing. Aubrey immediately stepped out of the car, gazing around.

They were in the middle of the woods, with dozens of trees looming over them. The sky was somewhat dim, which was odd because, as Aubrey had recalled, it was at least almost midnoon. She pushed the growing anxiety away, knowing that she needed none of it if she was to survive this hunt. Around her, car doors were opened and closed as everyone walked to their trunks to take out guns and weapons. There was a chainsaw too, and Aubrey stared at it in approval just as Samuel walked up to where she, Sam and Dean were standing.

"The house is just over the hill," he stated. Christian handed him a shotgun, and Aubrey did her best not to look at him, which was hard considering that he had planted his feet next to their team leader. From the corner of her eye, she saw him staring. Aubrey kept her eyes on Samuel.

"—we got one shot at this son of a bitch," he was saying, before turning to Christian. "Christian, take flank," he ordered, to which Christian nodded. "The rest of you are with me and Sam."

The pit of anxiety in her stomach grew as Samuel gestured nonchalantly to her and Dean, also to someone behind them. "Aubrey, Dean, Gwen," he started. "Hang back; sweep any stragglers we flush out."

Beside her, Dean rocked on his feet. Samuel noticed this, and raised an eyebrow. "Problem, Dean?"

"No, sir." Dean shook his head and shrugged, smiling smugly, though Aubrey could see the worry and suspicion on his face. The feeling was mutual.

Meanwhile, Gwen was not at all as reluctant as they were to voice out her concerns. "I'm in the rear, with the reject and the newbie?" she said.

"Newbie!" Aubrey exclaimed, eyes widening and an amused smile inching up her lips. "And I thought we were starting to become friends." Gwen stared back at her with her lips pursed before looking to Samuel.

He nodded condescendingly at her before turning around. "Alright," he addressed the others (_Sam included,_ Aubrey thought, scowling deeply). "Let's go."

The group immediately started moving, and while they followed Samuel down the trail that would lead them out of the woods, Sam hung back. He stepped up to Aubrey and Dean, who were glaring scornfully at the pack. "Don't worry," he said. "It's fine."

"No, nothing's fine. _You're_ not fine." Dean reeled himself in, sighing deeply before pinching the bridge of his nose. "Go," he said, not meeting his brother's eyes. When Sam didn't leave, he raised his head and looked pointedly at him, nodding at the pack that was slowly disappearing into the light mist. "Go," he repeated.

Sam took a step forward, about to follow the group when Aubrey grabbed his sleeve, pulling him back. He swivelled around to look at her, and she stared at him seriously. "Kick some ass for me."

He smirked and nodded his head, before running off. In a few seconds, he was out of sight, but not out of mind. Aubrey forced herself to relax her tensed shoulders, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from yelling at the others bloody murder. She turned around and met Dean's troubled gaze. She smiled gently at him, patting his back before making her way around him and to the Impala.

To her utmost disdain, Gwen was leaning against the hood with her arms crossed, looking very unhappy. Her head snapped to look at Aubrey as she approached, and she tensed slightly.

Aubrey couldn't resist the urge to roll her eyes, and as she did, she opened the door and pulled her jacket out of the backseat, adjusting the shotgun on her hip. She could feel Gwen's eyes on her through and through, but was surprised when she found that it didn't bother her at all.

_Maybe the wait won't be so long after all._

* * *

She was fiddling with her machete, twirling it around and around in her fingertips when Gwen spoke up.

"Sorry about the 'newbie' thing," she said, laughing awkwardly before looking to Dean, who was standing next to her by a tree. "And for calling you a reject."

Aubrey raised her head, shrugging. "We've been called worse." She elbowed Dean in the ribs, smiling slightly. "Right, Dean?"

"You don't even wanna know," he said, to which Gwen chuckled lightly.

"Just, uh, get sick of getting left behind," Gwen started. "Think it's probably 'cause I remind him of his daughter or something."

Aubrey groaned inwardly, knowing that she was trying to make conversation. In truth, Aubrey just wanted to kill the Alpha and go without really talking to anyone except for the boys, but obviously that wasn't going to happen. She didn't reply to what Gwen said, noting that the woman did _not_ remind her at all of Mary.

Dean replied for her. "Well, you just speak your mind," he said.

Gwen's eyebrows rose. "I'll take that as a compliment."

"You should."

While the two were busy making very awkward (and unwanted) conversation, Aubrey heard the light crunch of leaves to their right. Footsteps. Her head snapped to the side, her eyes scanning the thick foliage as there was another considerably loud sound of a twig snapping. Dean and Gwen heard _that_, and soon enough their weapons were drawn.

The three of them started towards the sound. Aubrey saw a figure flit from behind a tree, only a blur, right before she heard a snarl from behind. She immediately dove to the side, landing on her hip and elbow just as Gwen was thrown a foot away from her and Dean.

She struggled to her feet as Dean wrestled with a blonde vampire on the ground. The vampire quickly overpowered him, throwing the hunter off himself and to the ground a few feet away. Gwen interfered, brandishing her machete. The vampire dodged easily, skipping back a step before throwing his hand out, catching Gwen's wrist easily. Her weapon flew out of her hand and to the ground several ways away. The vampire immediately jumped on a weaponless Gwen, pinning her to the ground. He poised, his teeth bared and a hand in the air, ready to squish Gwen's head into the ground.

He didn't get a chance to. Aubrey had already pulled herself up and didn't resist to hack the vamp's head clean off with her machete.

Blood splattered onto Gwen's face, and the vampire's head fell to the side, landing on the ground with a wet thud. Its body landed on top of Gwen as blood pooled from its headless neck, and Gwen shoved it off of her. She remained on the ground, staring up at Aubrey with wide eyes.

"You're welcome." Aubrey said, inclining her head and (hesitantly) offering a hand; a gesture Gwen did not accept. She pulled herself to her feet, wiping at her cheek with her jacket's sleeve. From the side, Dean picked her machete off the ground and handed it to her. She took it roughly just as a gunshot rang in the air.

Dean's head snapped to the side, before running off to the direction their group had gone off to not an hour ago. "We're supposed to wait here!" Gwen called out to him, stopping herself from saying anymore when the older brother didn't stop in his advances.

Aubrey sighed, not giving the other female hunter a second glance before trailing after the older brother.

She caught up to him eventually, and soon after they arrived at a rusted iron gate (something Aubrey made careful to _not_ touch), behind which stood a large mansion. Shots continued ringing in the air, accompanied by the sounds of people yelling. Hunters. They were already inside, considering that the front porch was littered with dead bodies, of both hunters and vampires. Aubrey's eyes scanned the field, trying to see past the dark taint of the windows. She gave up soon after and looked to Dean.

He was gazing at something above them, recognition flashing across his face. Before Aubrey could ask, he rushed to the side, trailing beside the fences until they reached the corner of the house. Apart from the dead bodies, there were three steps of stairs that Aubrey assumed led to the backyard. Both of them rushed towards it, but halted when they heard loud banging.

Behind the window to their right, there was a woman, a hunter. "DEAN!" she yelled, knocking at the glass window loudly. Aubrey started towards her, but she was pulled away from the window by an unseen force. Then she heard a scream, and blood splattered onto the glass window. Dean flinched in shock, and so did Aubrey, but they knew better than to stop there.

Were they being massacred in there? Had the mission failed? Questions like this flew in and out of Aubrey's brain, but they were stopped in their tracks when she and Dean heard a new sound.

"Sam!" someone yelled from a few ways off. The call was soon followed by hard grunts, all men, and an engine running. Aubrey shared a look with Dean, both of them frowning, before making their way around the backyard and to the front of the house.

They hid behind the corner of a small wooden shack, and Aubrey's heart dropped when she saw just what they _weren't_ expecting.

Four men—one of them being Samuel, as Aubrey had judged from his pink, bald head—were huddled around one. There was a sack over his head and his hands were bound behind him. From the IV drip filled with blood they were carrying over his head, Aubrey guessed that he was a vamp. But what were they doing with a vamp? And why were they bringing him into the back of a van?

Behind them, Aubrey saw Sam, but he didn't seem to be confused as she and Dean were. His face was scrunched up in seriousness as he stood behind Samuel, who was barking orders to the other four hunters in the clearing.

She and Dean had seen enough. Together, they pulled away from the small shack as silently as they could, and started on their brisk walk back to Gwen, who was sure to still be at the same place.

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**reviews are greatly appreciated! ^^ they really help out A LOT.**

**p.s.**

**yeah i see you, followers... easy to keep track of since there's only 2 of you...**


	13. Chapter 13

**three chapters in a row, as apology for updating so late hahaha**

**I DO NOT OWN SUPERNATURAL OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS; only my OC, Aubrey Milligan.**

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The hunt was finished. Aubrey had deducted that much. But she also deducted that Samuel lied to them back at the Alpha base. Dean had asked where the Alpha was, and Aubrey had had the same train of thought. Both of them knew that it was the Alpha that they had loaded into the van. So it didn't come as much of a shock when Samuel told them that the vamp was already sizzling on a pyre. It was a lie, both of them knew.

They _were_ shocked, Dean more so than Aubrey, when Sam mentioned nothing about it.

The sun had set by the time they were even halfway back to the Campbell base, and by then, the younger brother still hadn't said anything. Aubrey sat in the backseat (as always) and stared daggers at the back of Sam's head. He shifted in his seat from time to time, and Aubrey was glad that she was making him nervous. She was angry; perhaps not as angry as Dean was, but she was angry. Not twenty-four hours ago had the three of them made a pact that there were to be no more lies. And yes, maybe Sam wasn't technically lying. He was "keeping the truth", but it infuriated Aubrey to no end.

Did he expect them to go on easy on him just because _he had no soul_?

Fuming, Aubrey balled her hands into fists so as to keep herself from shouting in fury. Just then, Bobby's words to her flashed across her mind.

It seemed so long ago since they had the heart-to-heart talk with the Winchester's uncle—though it wasn't much of a heart-to-heart as it was Bobby finally snapping at the boys. But Aubrey wasn't focusing on the way he had yelled. She was focusing on what he had told her.

_"You're there listening to me cave in because I know that you can help 'em."_ That was what he had said.

A pang of guilt washed over Aubrey's chest. What was she doing now? Was being mad at one of them really called _helping_? She tried to rein her anger back in, softening her stare on the back of Sam's head and relaxing her fists. If she was to help, she couldn't afford to be mad at either of them. She was to be graceful, and forgiving, and patient, and—

"Things go okay back there?" Dean asked.

_Too late._

There were no more loud rock songs to mask the familiar mistrust in his voice, and so Aubrey raised her chin slightly, waiting for his brother's answer.

"Fine," he replied simply.

"Nothing weird?"

Sam only shrugged, and that was when Dean pulled the Impala to the side of the road. The tires screeched from the sudden movement, but Dean paid the sound no heed as he turned the engine off and stepped out of the car. Confused, Sam followed suit, and with lips pursed, Aubrey did as well.

"I saw you walk that Alpha out the door, Sam." Dean's voice was pained and forced out, completely coated with anger and disbelief. "_We_ did. Aubrey saw it too so don't go telling me that I was seeing things. Aubrey, go ahead, tell him."

He gestured expectantly to Aubrey. She could feel Sam's gaze on her and met his eyes. "We saw you," she said. "Samuel had the Alpha loaded into the back of a van, and you were there."

Dean threw his hands up in exasperation, yelling, "Now, call me crazy, but _that_ seems weird."

Sam looked down, rocking on his feet. "Oh," he said.

Aubrey stared at him in disbelief as Dean nodded slowly. "'Oh'," he repeated.

"You weren't supposed to know about that," Sam said, avoiding his brother's gaze. His hands were in his pockets, and he looked considerably out of place.

"Know what?" Dean demanded.

"It's just something Samuel's been doing," Sam replied calmly. "Catching things, taking them somewhere, and grilling them for info." Aubrey _hated_ the blank tone in his voice, missing the sincerity in his words, and for a moment she wished that he would at least pretend that he had a soul again.

That feeling didn't last long. "Grill?" she asked, finally speaking up. Sam turned his head to look at her as she scoffed. "Torture, right?"

The younger brother nodded his head, and Dean ran a hand over his face. He said, "And not telling me—that was his idea?"

"No, it was mine."

There it was again, the bluntness in his voice that Aubrey despised with a passion. Nevertheless, she kept herself as calm as she could, burying the emotion deep within herself, as she knew that helping these boys would be much harder than she thought. It always was.

Dean's shoulders sagged visibly, and hurt flashed across his face. But he quickly covered it up with anger once more. "Why?" he asked.

"Honestly?" Sam started. "'Cause you'd mess it up. You shoot first, ask questions later, and we needed to ask questions."

Aubrey swallowed a huge wad of saliva, setting her jaw and glaring at the younger brother. Her eyes flicked to Dean, and it was enough to see the emotions fighting for dominance behind his eyes. "You know," he said. "I don't care if you've got soullessness or the freakin' mumps, man. You know better than this! Do you even want your soul back?" He was yelling, now.

"How does that have anything to do with—?"

"Have you been to the place where Samuel takes them?" Dean demanded, cutting Sam off with ease and a louder voice. "I mean, have you been in on these… _interrogations_?"

"No, but I hear—"

"And what does he want?" Dean interrupted again. "And why? And did it ever occur to you that this is _really_ shady?"

Sam looked confused (if that was still possible for a guy with no soul). He frowned. "He's our grandfather."

"Yeah," Dean said. "Yeah, a guy who talks a great game. You can't assume that family means the same thing to him as he does to us. He's not _family_. He's _blood_." He paced towards Sam, his hands balled into fists. "_Aubrey_ is family. _Jo _and _Ellen_ were family."—Aubrey noted the word 'were' with sadness—"Hell, even _Cas_ could be family if he didn't keep flying away!"

Aubrey's eyes flit from Sam to Dean, the latter, who eventually shook his head. "Wow," he said. "You don't see it, do you?"

"What?" Sam frowned.

"You've got _no_ instinct. I mean, you are seriously _messed up_." Dean's eyes were hard when he said this, and Aubrey felt that he really meant it.

Sam actually had the audacity to roll his eyes. "Thanks."

"I'm not kidding," Dean said. A staring contest ensued, one that didn't look to be ending very soon.

Fighting inwardly with herself, Aubrey stepped between them, spreading her arms out on either side so that the boys backed away from each other, their eyes going down to look at Aubrey.

"Look," she said, sighing. "There's two ways this conversation can go; first is, you two can hit it off right here, right now, and none of us will ever find out what Samuel's hiding behind his back. _Or_…" She raised a finger, meeting both their gazes one at a time. "We can settle this with three punches, go there right now, do a little digging, ask him a few questions, and be done with it before Christian can say 'umpah'."

She had no idea where her newfound confidence came from; although, it was probably just the emotions inside her giving her strength to even _think_ of something they could do, let alone _two_ options.

The brothers stared at her, their eyebrows creased together. Aubrey was just thankful that they were considering what she had just said. After a moment, they met each other's gaze, before nodding at the same time. Aubrey bobbed her head, and cracked her knuckles. "Alright. Here we go."

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It was easier to find a way to track the Alpha than they had previously thought. Aubrey and Dean waited in the garage of the Campbell base, waiting for Sam. And at first, both of them were sceptic if the younger brother was even going to come back, but he did, with a GPS remote in his hands and a blinking red dot right in the middle.

They drove to the site immediately, which basically just looked like any other warehouse, with dozens of steaming potholes and huge water towers. It was approximately 9pm, and the place was quiet. Aubrey, Sam, and Dean watched from afar, the Impala obscured from view by the corner of a small silo, as Samuel and Christian stepped out of their van. Christian was carrying a large sack in his hands, and Aubrey narrowed her eyes at it as they watched the two go into the building.

Dean turned the engine off, and together the three of them slowly made their way to the door. It was locked, but he was quick to dig in his pockets and look for a pin. Sam ran two fingers over the flat of the door, and in the darkness, Aubrey could see the artificial darker color.

She scowled, taking Dean's pin from his hands and starting to pick the lock. "Dead man's blood?"

Sam scoffed. "They locked the place down with vamp repellent."

"Smart," Dean remarked, just as Aubrey finished up with the lock. She turned the knob and the door swung open. Before she stepped inside, she pulled her machete out of its holster.

It was dark inside, but not so much that Aubrey couldn't see where she was going. She led the boys down a series of hallways, picking the paths purely on instinct. It seemed that her instinct was sharper than usual, because as they turned a particularly long hallway, they heard the sound of a door creaking open loudly.

A figure stepped into the hallway, and Aubrey immediately pulled the boys to the side, into a room where Dean hid beneath a desk, Sam behind a wall, and Aubrey behind a shelf by the door.

With ears pricked, she listened intently as a door was shut outside, and there were footsteps, followed by a sigh. Christian stepped into her view, and she reflexively inched deeper against the shelf. She held her breath, willing her beating heart to calm down. After a few seconds, the sound of footsteps resumed, getting farther and farther away. Aubrey released a breath and stepped out of her hiding place, watching as Sam and Dean did the same. She gave both of them knowing stares, before walking back outside again.

There were voices, this time, and they followed it to the end of the hall, where there was an open door. Aubrey pressed herself against the wall, waiting intently as the brothers did the same on either side of her, Sam on the other side of the doorway, before poking her head out slightly.

Inside, Samuel was standing outside of a barred cage. And inside that barred cage was a man, dark-skinned and bald. His hands and feet seemed to be nailed to place, along with his neck, and Aubrey cringed slightly at the sight. She assumed that it was the Alpha, but it was still very gory for her taste.

"Where is it?" Samuel said, apparently impatient. "Answer the question. Where is it? How do we find it?" When the Alpha didn't answer, he pulled a lever and pressed a big red button by the side of the cage. There was a humming sound, before electricity sparked on the Alpha's chains, travelling down to the nails on his hands and feet.

The Alpha smiled smugly, not seeming to be affected by the surge of electricity. "Ouch," he said. "Stop, that hurts."

Samuel pressed the button again and the voltage stopped. Aubrey glanced at Sam and Dean, who were just as confused and curious as she was.

"_This_?" Samuel stepped away from the cage and gestured to his surroundings. "This is club med compared to what we have planned for you."

"Oh?" The Alpha raised an eyebrow.

"I got all the time in the world."

"Well, that makes two of us."

That was when Samuel grabbed a wrench from the working table beside him, fuming in frustration. It looked as if he was about to beat the shit out of the Alpha right then and there, but he caught himself at the last second, setting the wrench back down. Aubrey sighed inwardly as the old hunter walked out, slamming the door behind him so that the only sound they could hear next was the Alpha chuckling in amusement. In fact, the three of them were just about to leave when he spoke.

He said, "Are you three going to hide all night? Come on out, boys." Aubrey could hear the smirk in his voice when he added, "And girl."

She scowled, looking to Sam and Dean, who were as stumped and dazed as she was. Seeing that perhaps they could squeeze some answers out of the Alpha, she was the first to step through the doorway. The brothers followed soon after, but her gaze was fixed on the Alpha vampire sitting pinned on a chair in his cage.

"How can I help you?" he asked, his voice a mere rumble in his throat.

Aubrey didn't say anything, narrowing her eyes at the sparkle of recognition in his eyes. _Of course he'd see what I am. Every friggin' supernatural thing seems to._

Dean cut through the silence, stepping forward and saying, "We got some questions for you, Skippy, since you're going nowhere fast."

"Don't be so sure." the Alpha chuckled in response. He glanced down at his wrists, and Aubrey consciously felt herself raising her machete slightly. He noticed and turned his gaze to her, a smile still on his lips. "A daughter of heaven," he mused. "It's been ages since I've seen your kind. And still as pretty… and revolting as ever." He tilted his head. "How many of you are there left?"

Aubrey froze, frowning slightly. She'd never thought about it, and made a mental note to ask Castiel (no matter how much she still disliked him for digging his holy hands into her soul) when they were done.

"Don't know, don't care," she replied as smugly as she could.

The Alpha made a rumbling noise from the back of his throat, and then turned his attention back to Sam and Dean; to Sam, mostly. The Alpha frowned slightly. "You smell cold," he said, to which Sam shared a knowing glance with Dean. "You have no soul," the Alpha confirmed, leaning his head forward slightly. "What an oddity. Do you feel how empty you are? What is it like to have no soul?"

"Answer my question," Sam said sternly, his jaw set.

"You haven't asked one yet," the Alpha retorted. "So you first."

"You're the one in the cage."

Sam had a point; Aubrey knew it, but the Alpha didn't seem to care. He sighed. "The thing about souls—if you've got one, of course—is they're predictable. You die, you go up or down." He narrowed his eyes slightly. "Where do _my kind_ go?"

Aubrey rolled her eyes, stepping closer to the cage and banging her machete on the bars in impatience, knowing that they didn't have much time. "Enough with the sermon, freak," she growled.

"I'm trying to answer the question," the Alpha replied quickly, turning his head to look at her. "Now, when we _freaks_ die, where do we go?" His voice turned soft, but his eyes blazed as he stared at Aubrey. "You should know the question, Phoenix, considering that you've been there more times than one."

She bit the inside of her lip, her eyes flitting around the room frantically. The Alpha smirked at her reaction. "Not heaven, not hell," he said. "So?"

"Legoland?" Dean guessed smugly.

The Alpha rolled his eyes, sighing in exasperation. "Little rusty on our Dante, boys?"

Beside her, Sam stiffened up, and Aubrey turned her head to find realization flashing across his face. "Purgatory," he stated, to which the Alpha nodded his head.

Dean frowned. "Purgatory? Purgatory's real?"

"Oh, stupid cattle." The Alpha snarled. "Of course! And it is filled with the soul of every hungry thing like me that ever walked this Earth. Now, _where_ is it? That is the mystery. And that is what your kind-hearted granddaddy is trying to beat out of me." He, once again, looked to Aubrey. "I only wonder if _you_ remember."

"I don't," she snapped. "And why the hell is Samuel looking for Purgatory anyway? Why does he care?"

"He doesn't care," the Alpha replied blankly. "He does as he is told."

Aubrey frowned and glanced at Dean, who seemed to be processing what he had just heard. "So if the old man's Kermit," he started. "Whose hand's up his ass?"

That was when they heard the sound of a shotgun loading into place behind them, and the three of them whirled around to find three other hunters standing by the doorway—two of them being Christian and Samuel, who held their shotguns in similar positions as the latter regarded Sam, Aubrey, and Dean with cold eyes.

"Evening, guys."

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**please review :((**


	14. Chapter 14

**last chapter for this week. hope you guys like. ;)**

**I DO NOT OWN SUPERNATURAL OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS; only my OC, Aubrey Milligan.**

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"Dammit."

Aubrey cursed, closing her eyes and trying to think of _anything_ else. Her hands were held up on either side of her head as Christian's hands roamed her body, searching for any hidden weapons even though she had none, but Aubrey knew that he was enjoying himself a little bit too much. It was repulsive.

"Really sorry that I have to do this," he said, and Aubrey could hear the smirk in his voice as he crouched, his hands travelling down her legs (and closer to the inside of her thighs than was necessary).

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, bite me."

Christian raised his head, looking up at her with a full-fledged grin. "If you say so."

She shoved him away before he could touch anything else, making a mental note to bathe herself in dishwashing liquid as soon as they left. The thought of having Christian-handprints all over her body disgusted her to no end. She glared at the older hunter, inching closer to the brothers. Dean acknowledged her with a small grunt, not taking his eyes off Samuel.

"Wow, you know, I have seen some stupid in my time, but you take the crown," he said, the anger ever present in his gruff voice. "Putting _Jaws_ in a _fishbowl_? How do you think that's gonna end? I don't know what kind of game you're running—"

"What, do you think I'm doing this for _kicks_?" Samuel cut in, scowling.

"I think that you got the rest of these feebs convinced that you're John Wayne!" Dean snapped. "So whatever you're doing, whatever you're hiding? It's gonna put you and everyone around you in the ground."

That was when Samuel made a move to attack Dean, but the older brother anticipated the move. He grabbed the old man's wrist and squeezed it tight, making the shotgun fly out of reach and skid away from them. Aubrey didn't see anymore, as she had turned to Christian and was by then pinning him to the wall with her elbow on his neck. He clawed at her arm, but she only smiled smugly and pressed harder.

The sound of a gun cocking into place behind them stopped her, and she threw her head back to find Gwen standing at the end of the hall, her shotgun pointed at them. "Hi," she said.

"Gwen," Dean growled from where he crouched in the middle of the hallway, his hands on his gun and a magazine of bullets. He put them back down before straightening up. "And I thought we had something special."

Beside her, Sam put his hand on Aubrey's shoulder, nodding slightly. Aubrey scowled, her attention turning back to Christian, who was smirking haughtily. Reluctantly, she pulled her elbow away from his neck as roughly as she could, giving the hunter one last glare before looking to Gwen. She had already dropped the barrel of her gun, making it so that it pointed to the floor before walking up to the group. For a few seconds, all of them just stood there; Sam glaring at Samuel, Dean glaring at Gwen, and Aubrey glaring at Christian.

It stopped when they heard a scream come from down the hall, and Aubrey only presumed that it had come from inside the Alpha vamp's storage room.

All of their heads snapped to the side, and Samuel was the first to speak. "Grab your stuff," he said.

Aubrey didn't need to be told twice. As the other hunters ran off to the initial direction of the screams, Aubrey, Sam, and Dean knelt down and quickly gathered their weapons. She placed the single reassuring throwing knife inside the secret holster within her boot before picking up her machete (courtesy of the disgusting Christian), and then followed the others.

They reached the Alpha's storage room only a few seconds after Samuel, and when they did, Aubrey's heart dropped when she saw that the Alpha was no longer in the cage. By the stairs leading down to it, there was a hunter on the floor with blood pooling around his head. Aubrey rushed to him, placing two fingers on his pulse point. _Dead._ She frowned, but otherwise picked his shotgun off the floor, assuming that she'd need it.

"How much dead man's blood we got left?" she heard Samuel ask, and turned her head to see Christian raise two vaccines full of dark red liquid. Her heart dropped even deeper into her stomach. _So little._

"How long 'til the Alpha's a hundred percent?" she asked inquisitively, raking a hand through her hair.

"Hour, maybe less," Samuel replied. "We need to get him dosed up and back in the cage."

"No."

Aubrey didn't need to turn her head to know that it was Dean who had said it, but she did anyway, watching as Samuel scrutinized the older brother with cold eyes. "What do you mean 'no'?" he said.

"I mean, I don't know what your big plan was, but playing catch is _not_ on the table."

"Dean—"

"We take the thing's head off, or it kills us all!" Dean yelled. "You know that."

She was surprised when it seemed that Samuel was considering it, obviously fighting with himself about it. He didn't say anything else after that, and Dean took it as an affirmative. "Okay," he said, nodding slightly before turning to Sam, then Aubrey. "We split up. Clear every room. You get a shot, you take it. It's not gonna kill him, but dude will move a lot slower without any knee caps." He once again turned his glare to Samuel. "And if we make it through this"—Aubrey frowned slightly at the use of the word 'if'—"You, me, Sam, and Aubrey are having one hell of a family meeting."

At that, he trudged back up the stairs and was followed by Gwen, leaving Aubrey, Samuel, Christian and Sam to cover anything else that they didn't. (Aubrey was only thankful that she wasn't left alone with Christian.)

The four of them scanned rooms as quickly, though as persistently, as they could. So far, none of them had any signs of being touched. Papers were stacked perfectly. Curtains were still. Windows had remained closed. Honestly, Aubrey was starting to think that the Alpha wasn't even in the facility anymore.

They were back in the main hallway when, behind her, Christian loosened his tensed shoulders. "You think he ran out?" he asked.

That was when Aubrey heard the sound of rushing air—something that was otherwise impossible to hear, but for her it was different. She turned around just in time to see the Alpha vamp standing behind the hunter, his white shirt torn and covered in blood.

Her face must have looked horrified, because Christian looked considerably confused before he turned around as well. And that was when the Alpha snapped his neck. Vaguely, she heard someone yell in shock behind her, but the sound was drowned out by her gunshot ringing in the air.

It hit the Alpha right in the chest, spawning several bullet holes all at once. But it wasn't enough.

He took a single wide stride towards her before throwing his arm out, backhanding her face so hard that she flew. Her back hit the wall, and she heard a slight crunch that _might_ have been either her spine or a rib. She slid to the floor agonizingly fast, and from her position she saw that Samuel was out cold. Christian laid a lifeless heap on the floor, and the Alpha had Sam pinned to a wall with his hand around his throat.

Aubrey could hear the Alpha saying something, but it was too low for her to hear. Her ears were ringing as well as she felt her body healing itself, too fast for its own good. It was painful, as it always was, but she couldn't fight the Alpha with a broken spine/rib. Ironically, as the agony reached its apex, she started pulling herself off the floor. It was torturous work, as the searing pain in the base of her back intensified with the slightest movements, but bit by bit, she was able to get on all fours. Her hair was in her face, and she cursed herself slightly for not tying it back sooner.

However, once she blew the strands away, her eyes settled on Christian, who was no longer lying still on the floor, but was standing right behind the Alpha with a vaccine of dead man's blood in his hand. But that wasn't what Aubrey was staring at.

She was staring at his eyes, which were pitch black, and the utterly evil scowl on his face as he stepped closer to the vamp. She watched as he stabbed the Alpha in the crook of his neck, injecting the blood into his system.

The Alpha gasped loudly, dropping his hold on Sam before his knees buckled and he collapsed onto the floor, writhing wildly. Sam gasped for air, his eyebrows creased together. "Christian?!" he said, staring at the demon in the room.

After that, a lot of things happened at once and Aubrey was barely able to keep up (considering her head was still throbbing, though the pain was gone and her body was completely healed):

Dean stepped around the corner, followed quickly by Gwen. There was a flash of blinding white light, though Aubrey didn't blink. Stars danced before her eyes, though they weren't enough for her to not see the additional two demons that had appeared in the room. They, including Christian, grappled onto the Alpha. Aubrey was just starting to consider the possibility of the Alpha being able to overpower them when there was another flash of light, and they were gone.

Sam, Dean, and Gwen started back, startled by the sudden disappearance of the four unholy creatures. Across the room, Samuel had already regained consciousness and was starting to pull himself off the floor. Aubrey did the same, leaning against the wall for support as she regained her footing. That almost caught Sam and Dean's attention, but it was stolen once again by loud clapping.

All eyes turned to where the sound came from, which was up an unnecessary flight of stairs. When Aubrey's eyes fell to what—or _who_ was making the sound, a scowl crept onto her features, and all previous feeling of nausea was gone, replaced by scorn and hatred. After all, who didn't hate the King of Hell?

"Well, that was dramatic," Crowley said, with his voice as annoyingly gravelly as ever.

Sam stepped forward, looking up at the demon with a frown. "Crowley?"

"Hello, boys," he replied, nodding at the Winchesters before glancing at Samuel and Gwen. "Campbells." His gaze finally fell on Aubrey, and he smirked. "Aubrey! What an unexpected treat. How's your spine?"

She could feel everyone's eyes on her, probably worried that there was still something wrong with her spine. If there was, how was she standing? _Men, honestly._ "Better, now," she told the demon spitefully.

"Good," Crowley said, starting to make his way down the stairs. "I wouldn't have gone into the trouble of healing yourself though, considering you'll be bloodied up and bruised again by tomorrow morning."

Aubrey froze. _What?_ That same question was on her lips, but she didn't have the chance to voice it out because Samuel had beaten her to the punch.

Although, the old man wasn't _asking_ for anything. "Bring Christian back now," he demanded.

Crowley paused on his leisurely walk down the stairs, mocking confusion. "I'm sorry?"

"My nephew," Samuel yelled. "The one you just crammed a demon into!"

"Oh, no." Crowley walked up to the old hunter with his hands in his pockets. "I had him possessed ages ago." _So _that's_ why he seemed off,_ Aubrey thought. _He was a freaking demon._ But then a thought occurred to her, and she nearly gagged. _I got felt up by a demon._ "Samuel, really," Crowley continued. "I keep an eye on my investments."

To that, Aubrey turned her attention back to the conversation.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa…" Dean held a finger up. "You two know each other?"

"Not in the biblical sense," Crowley said. "More of a business relationship, I'd say."

A moment of silence passed, and in those seconds Aubrey shared a knowing look with Sam. He nodded in affirmation, looking back to Samuel and Crowley. He said, "You're Crowley's bitch."

Samuel had a sharp intake of breath. "It's not what you think."

"It's precisely what you think," Crowley intervened, his eyebrows quirked up as he stared at Samuel. "That Alpha he's caught me is getting him a gold star."

Dean scowl deepened. "Since when do you give a crap about vampires?"

Crowley turned his gaze to the older brother and turned away from Samuel. "Since, uh… What's today—Friday?" He stepped up to Dean and looked up, pretending to be thinking. "Since, let's see—mind your business."

He slipped past him and Gwen (who had been considerably quiet all throughout the conversation), before Sam stopped him. "You might as well share with the class, Crowley," he said. "We know you're looking for Purgatory."

"So you heard about that?" the demon asked, turning around without faltering from his never-ending smugness and attitude. For some reason, his eyes flicked to Aubrey, but the visual contact was gone before she could actually think about it.

"Yeah," said Sam. "You want to tell us why?"

"Isn't it obvious? Location, location, location..." Crowley trailed off and raised an eyebrow, making Aubrey roll her eyes. _Douchebag._ Finally, he sighed. "I'm a developer. Purgatory is vast, underutilized, and hell-adjacent, and I want it."

"What for?" Dean piped up from the back.

"Best shut your gob," Crowley cut in smugly. "Employees don't question management."

"We ain't your employees."

"'Course you are! Have been for some time now, thanks to gramps." All eyes turned to Samuel, who hadn't moved from his spot but was keeping his mouth shut enough that Aubrey was sure the accusations weren't false. Crowley pursed his lips. "I don't keep Captain Chromedome around for his wit, do I? Samuel knows things; more than any of you, actually. Except maybe for you." He nodded to Aubrey, who was feeling more and more anxious at what he had said minutes before, about her being bloodied up again by morning. What did he mean by that?

Crowley continued. "And I knew you three are so hung-up on family, loyalty nonsense; he said 'jump', you'd get froggy."

"Yeah, well, game's over," Dean said. Aubrey could see that he was trying to keep his cool, but everything was going downhill, really.

Crowley raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, well, afraid not. Not if you want to see Sam's soul ever again." And while everyone looked to the younger brother, the King of Hell turned his gaze to Aubrey. "Or Aubrey's."

Her heart dropped, and she struggled to keep a straight face, even though she had no idea what he was talking about. "You're bluffing," she stated boldly.

"I'm not, surprisingly enough. King of Hell can do whatever he wants, after all." Crowley smiled humorlessly, clapping his hands together. "So! We clear? Me Charlie—you angels. Job's simple enough: bring me creatures. Aim high on the food chain, please. Everybody wins. It's been a pleasure, but we have to go now."

Aubrey despised the smugness in his voice, and wanted nothing more than to put a dent in his face, but she couldn't help but to take a frightened step back when he started towards her.

_We?_

"Stay back," she said, holding the sharp end of her machete to him. He didn't stop in his advances, a wide smirk on his face, and Aubrey brandished the weapon. "I said stay _the fuck_ back!"

A gasp hitched in her throat when she felt the cold hardness of the wall hit her back, trapping her where she was. Crowley was right in front of her now, and Aubrey put the cold blade to his neck, but even then she could feel her boldness and courage slowly slipping away. The demon grabbed her wrist and squeezed—hard. The knife fell from her hands, and vaguely Aubrey wished that it would impale his foot, but there was no such luck.

Over Crowley's shoulder, she could see Sam and Dean making a run for her. Her last thought was that of wonder, of how the brothers had gotten so far away from her. The last thing she heard was Dean screaming her name before Crowley squeezed her wrist again, and darkness overtook her.

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**dun dun DUUUUUNNNNN**

**what happens next? idunnoyouhavetokeepreading. pleasekeepreading.**

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	15. Chapter 15

**and so it begins... [waggles eyebrows]**

**I DO NOT OWN SUPERNATURAL OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS; ONLY MY OC - AUBREY MILLIGAN.**

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The first time Aubrey woke up, she was in a cold sweat, with her head dangling out in front of her in a position that wasn't at all comfortable for her neck. She groaned, pulling her head up slightly, and only groaning more when she heard the bones in her neck crack at the small movement.

That was when she heard the low sound of chuckling. And it wasn't just _any_ chuckling. With more effort than necessary, Aubrey raised her head. Through half-lidded eyes and blurry vision, she saw the dark silhouette of a man who was leaning against a barred door.

Once her eyes focused, a scowl immediately crossed her face. "Crowley."

He smiled lightly. "Good morning, love. Have a nice nap?"

She didn't answer. Her eyes flit away from the irritating demon as she finally got enough wit to scan their surroundings.

They were in what resembled a jail cell, with the barred door (leading out into a hallway filled with several other jail cells), and the hastily cemented walls that were sure to be rough on the skin. Apart from all that, there was nothing else in the room. No bed, no toilet, no sink, even though Aubrey had seen plenty of those during her trips to prisons when she was working a case.

Then she gained enough sense to feel the coldness biting into the skin of her wrists. She turned her head slowly; wincing as more bones in her neck cracked at the bending movement, but all that was gone as soon as she saw the chains holding her arms out to her sides. The cuffs were tight around her wrists, and its chains were bolted to the wall, disappearing behind the cement.

Aubrey pulled at them, scowling. "You do this to every woman you meet?"

"No, just you." Crowley smirked. "I knew that you've got a little more up your sleeve than Sam and Dean. They're just stupid, but you—you've got a fire in that little chest of yours." He shrugged, eyeing the chains with a glint in his eye. "Just wanted to be sure."

Though frustrated, Aubrey had only tugged at the chains once more before the demon's voice entered her ears again. "Wouldn't do that again if I were you," he said.

And Aubrey, being the stubborn little demon-hating hunter that she was, only threw him a cynical sneer before pulling at her chains again, harder this time.

She immediately regretted her decision.

The shock that went through her was intense, absolutely unlike anything she had ever felt. Aubrey had never been electrocuted before; only once, though it could have barely been called "electrocuted". She had touched a stray plug with wet hands; though it was nothing compared to what she was feeling right then and there, with the King of Hell watching her body go rigid with pursed lips and a sigh.

When it was done, Aubrey felt like her entire mass was going to burst. Her brain throbbed in her head heavily, and her heart pounded away against her chest in a dizzying pace that Aubrey was almost sure there was going to be a heart-shaped dent left in her ribs. The veins running down her arms felt like they were going to explode any minute, whereas the ones by her abdomen simply felt numb.

Vaguely, she heard a hissing sound. With her neck drooped low and through the dots in her eyes, she craned her neck and watched as smoke curled from the skin on her wrists.

"Told you so," she heard Crowley say, and raised her head to meet his smug eyes with a glare.

"What is this?" she growled, barely forming the words through her painfully numb lips.

"_This_," the demon started, gesturing around the cell, "is your room, or, more specifically, where you'll be stitching yourself up every night after we're done with you."

Aubrey surprised herself when she rolled her eyes, letting her head fall to the side slightly. "You're gonna _torture_ me?"

The King of Hell narrowed his eyes at her. "That's the plan."

"For what intel?" Her throat had become incredibly dry, and she swallowed loudly. It didn't help at all, only reminded her of ice water and cold beer with the boys.

Crowley smirked at the frown on her face, pushing off the barred door and starting to pace around the room. "Purgatory, obviously."

Aubrey scoffed. "You _really_ think I know where it is, don't you?"

He shrugged. "Quite positive about it, yes."

"Well, you're wrong."

"You sure about that?"

"_Yes_," she insisted, raising her voice slightly and pulling at her restraints, though not enough for another shock of high voltage to run through her. "Now let me go, and I might just tell Sam and Dean to let you keep breathing."

She had no idea where the sudden chutzpah came from—she was proud of it, but it didn't help her at all. Crowley clucked at her, wagging his pointer finger. "Threatening the King of Hell, eh?" he said. "Bold, but stupid. And I was starting to think that you were smarter than the boys."

"I _am_ smarter than the boys," Aubrey snapped, before sucking in a sharp intake of breath at the pain that spread over her arm. She didn't need to look to know that her burned skin was healing itself, re-growing the covering that was lost in a fast pace.

Crowley watched all this with a smirk on his face. "That's what you have to look forward to when morning comes," he said, before turning away. "Unfortunately, I won't have the pleasure of cutting the answers out of your beautiful body, but rest assured my men will make do without me."

A humourless chuckle rumbled deep within Aubrey's throat, and she looked up at the demon with a forced smugness. (Every fibre atop her skin was burning.) "The King of Hell can't clear his schedule for little old me?"

"You should be thankful, little bird," he said, and Aubrey scowled at the lame nickname he had made for her. "I will stop by when I can, just to see how my patient is doing."

At that, he turned around and made way for the door. Aubrey panicked, pulling at her chains. She winced and closed her eyes, waiting for the shockwave that didn't come. When she heard the sound of a metal door creaking open then closed, she opened her eyes. "Sam and Dean will come for me!" she yelled, partly in desperation, and partly trying to convince _herself_.

From outside the barred door, Crowley didn't look over his shoulder when he said, "Let them come. Their heads will be separated from their bodies before they're even twenty feet from you."

Aubrey watched, downcast, and waited before he turned a corner and was completely obscured from her view. Once he did, she let her shoulders sag forward and her head droop low.

_This isn't happening,_ she told herself, shaking her head slightly. _Don't shit yourself. Of course this is happening._ Crowley wanted to know where Purgatory was, and he was going to make every part of her body—and possibly soul—bleed until he found out, whether it was from her lips or someone else's. However, Aubrey's real problem was that she didn't know. She _honestly didn't know_ where the bloody place was, let alone how she could lead him to it!

Before, the Alpha vamp had stated that she should know where it was, considering that her soul had died more times than anyone could really count. Was that true? Could she possibly remember where it was?

By the life of her, Aubrey thought long and hard, trying to remember something she didn't even know about. A minute passed, maybe even an hour, maybe two, but she didn't move as she debated on whether or not she should even _try_ to remember. Was she really going to give the bad guy what he wanted? Was she that weak?

Questions like this became so muddled up in her head that she barely noticed it when a light was turned on at the end of the hallway. There were footsteps; slow, even footsteps. Aubrey raised her head when they came to a halt in front of her cell, and her heart dropped.

"Christian." She groaned, scowling. "Just my luck. I thought I was never going to see your pervy face again."

She watched as he crossed his arms in front him. "Every demon here is pervy, sweetheart," he said, grinning maliciously. "In fact, everyone here can't _wait_ to get in your pants."

Aubrey's heart faltered and she released a humourless laugh, hoping it would somehow suppress the growing fear inside of her. "You're going to rape me!" she exclaimed, feigning surprise. "How original."

"We ain't." Relief flooded through her at that, but it was gone when Christian said, "Not yet." Aubrey glared at the smug expression on his face as he said, "Boss' orders."

"Loyal little minions are we? I would hate to see Crowley rip your arms off once he found out that I escaped." She growled. Her eyes flit from the demon in front of her to everywhere else, desperately looking for any sort of material that could get her out of her chains. She had no idea how she would reach it, but she wasn't at that particular step yet.

Christian smirked in amusement. "You'll learn to stop trying sooner or later," he said, and Aubrey froze as more men walked in from behind a corner. One of them—a bald man with black clothes to match his skin—had a chain of keys dangling from his waist, and Aubrey narrowed her eyes at the sight of it. Christian walked to the side, making way for the two other demons.

They opened her cell door using one specific key—one that definitely didn't stand out from all the others but one Aubrey made a point to sear into her memory—and used another to free her from her chains.

The cuffs on her wrists opened, and Aubrey, not realizing just how much the electric shock minutes before had cost her, crumpled to her knees on the ground. Her legs were numb, but hurting at the same time, and she caught herself only by the use of her arms, which were feeling the same way.

Her obvious weak state was met by the utter amusement of Christian. He chuckled loudly from outside the cell as the two other demons picked Aubrey off the floor, practically dragging her to the hallway outside.

As soon as they were a safe distance away from her cell, Aubrey heaved at both of the demons' grips. Both of them were pulled down by her weight, yelling in surprise before she kicked both of them in the jaw. From behind, Christian grabbed her from the waist, but she quickly elbowed him in the ribs.

He fell backwards and Aubrey had straightened up in an instant. She was just about to knock him out too when she suddenly felt something cold pressing against the small of her back.

Without her jacket, and with only a thin maroon tank top clothing her torso, Aubrey easily realized that it was the cold barrel of a gun being pressed against her.

Grudgingly, she dropped her fist, and watched with dark eyes as Christian brushed himself off with a murderous look on his face, no longer as self-righteous as he was before though just as smug. His hand flew out and latched onto the hair at the back of Aubrey's head, pulling her face closer to him.

Try as she might, with the homicidal demon looming over her and the cold barrel of a gun pressing against her back, Aubrey couldn't do much except grimace as Christian breathed harshly onto her face. His mouth (along with every other part of his revolting face) was only inches from hers, and she wanted nothing more than to land a punch on his nose.

A snarl crept up the back of his throat as he pulled her face closer. "It will be fun breaking you," he said, tilting his head slightly. "Shame about that pretty soul of yours though. I'd hate to see it in so much pain."

Aubrey spat at his face, scowling when he did nothing more but close his eyes in disgust. She growled. "Go to hell."

Christian smirked at the remark, but said nothing more when he shoved her to the floor. Her back was to him, then, and Aubrey turned around just in time for her to see him take a shotgun from one of the demons (the two who had previously been standing behind her with their guns pressed against her back).

Aubrey crawled backwards frantically, not taking her eyes off Christian as he advanced towards her with more speed. He reached her in a number of seconds, and the last thing she saw was blackness completely covering his eyes before he brought the butt of his gun up, and everything went black.

* * *

The second time she woke up, the very first thing she felt was the steady coldness of wind drafting across her skin. Aubrey's eyes snapped open, completely unfocused and blurry but she didn't care; because she was wholly aware of the nude state of her body.

Of course, the first move she made was to cover herself. When she found that she couldn't move her hands, or even her legs, that was when she knew that something was terribly wrong. Memories of the previous time she was conscious flashed across her mind in a single second, and she was fully alert once more. The cold air seemed to envelope around her skin, making her shiver.

After a few seconds of looking around in panic, Aubrey was able to conclude several facts. One: she was stark bare. Two: she was bound to what seemed to be a metal table, with her wrists, ankles, and neck bound to place by leather bindings, the same material that wrapped around her chest and below her stomach. (In some way, Aubrey was thankful that they were there to keep her more intimate parts from prying eyes.) Three: she was in a dark room, and there was a metal desk that stood beside her, too tall for her to see but she had a growing suspicion as to what was on it.

Four, and last on the list, was that Christian was looming above her, a wide, evil grin on his face and eyes the colour of black holes.

He blinked, and the colour of his eyes turned normal, but he was still a demon and Aubrey, in the state she was in, tried to shift in place. Her restraints held her still, and all she managed was to rock the table she was on slightly; although something in her told her that she was never going to be able to topple it over.

"Good morning, sweetheart," Christian said, a low purr creeping into his voice.

Aubrey glared at him through half-lidded eyes. "I never liked kinky—"

She was silenced when the demon picked something off the metal table, and Aubrey saw that it was a knife; curved at the end, with the point glistening even in the dimly lit room. Aubrey gulped down the growing lump in her throat and forced herself to meet Christian's eyes.

"I'm guessing that's for dinner?" she said, trying to keep her voice from shaking and failing miserably.

Christian grinned down at her. "No," he said simply, before, with a flick of his wrist, landing a cut on her arm.

It was just below the crook of her arm, and pain immediately flared up from the wound. The cut wasn't deep, but it was long and thin, running all the way down to her wrist, and for some reason that made it all the more painful.

Aubrey flinched, barely able to keep a scream from erupting out of her throat. She bit down on the inside of her cheek, hard, drawing blood. A miserable wince tore its way out of her mouth, but she hid the rest of the pain with a grimace.

Above her, Christian's smirk turned into an all-out grin. Aubrey could already feel the cut on her arm stitching itself up, but before the agony ended, the demon dug the knife into her calf, and that was when Aubrey screamed.

This one was deep; it didn't reach the bone, but it tore through muscle and Christian was twisting the knife slightly. Aubrey keened, feeling the tears rise up as she felt the torn muscle sewing itself back together. The only problem was that the knife was still embedded in the skin. It was excruciating, and her barely contained whimpers echoed across the room as it continued.

When, Aubrey didn't know; but there came the time when Christian finally pulled the blade out. The muscles sewed back together in agonizing slowness, but Aubrey's relief was short-lived.

Christian made several long cuts down her stomach, all at least a centimetre deep, and when her body started healing itself Aubrey screamed again.

* * *

Aubrey couldn't believe that it was just the first day.

By the time Christian gave her leave to be taken back to her cell, every fibre in her body was in pain, if that was even possible. Her head throbbed; she could barely feel her heart beating, because as much as she tried to focus on it, everything always went back to the pain.

She didn't know how long she spent in the torture chamber with Christian, but it felt like years. There were dozens of scars lining up and down her arm and legs, even more on her stomach. He'd left her face alone, saying that "it was too pretty to make ugly so soon". Aubrey had whimpered at that, wondering how long it would be before they finally decided to cut into her eye. Of course, she didn't give him the idea.

They put her back in chains, but she barely noticed it as the agony was reaching its apex as every wound on her body stitched themselves up at the same time; the one on her toe, the one on her navel, the one on her wrist, the one on her neck. Each of them offered her wave after wave of torture, and it was all Aubrey could do not to black out.

Christian closed the cell door with a loud bang, making her flinch at the sudden loud sound. He smirked before walking away, but Aubrey didn't wait for him to turn the corner. Her head was already drooped low as soon as they cuffed her wrists on either side of her.

Eventually, the pain subsided, but it took a long time; and even then, there was still a consistent throbbing at the back of Aubrey's neck, making her head heavy. Up until then, she hadn't shown any signs of giving up. Yes, tears had come during the hours of torture she endured, but she never let them go too far as to give the demons the idea that she was going to break soon.

But hung in her cell, with her hands bound in chains away from her body, high and tight enough so that her feet were just mere inches from the ground, and stark bare except for a wrap that Christian so generously draped across her shoulders… Aubrey felt weak.

Crowley's methods hadn't broken her yet, but even she had enough of her right mind to know that it wouldn't be long before they did. If they continued doing what they did, she could last a few days at most, possibly even a week or more. If they made it worse… maybe less.

A sob tore its way out of Aubrey's throat, and a single tear fell from her eye. She closed her eyes tight, willing the tears to retreat, to go back, and they did. Nothing more came out of her mouth. She raised her head and looked up at the ceiling, imagining a wide blue sky spread out before her. _God, help me,_ she thought.

And at the thought of God, she thought of heaven; and at the thought of heaven, she thought of angels; and at the thought of angels, she thought of her favourite one.

"Cas…"

It was barely a whisper in the silence of the cell; it was a desperate plea. She closed her eyes and retreated into her mind, where the pain was least.

"Find me."

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**please please PLEEEASE review :( I SEE YOU THERE FOLLOWERS. I SEE YOU**


	16. Chapter 16

**honestly though Crowley is so freaking consistent. He STILL thinks Aubrey would remember the way to Purgatory? it's not like her soul can remember that, since her soul is the only thing that leaves. this is me contradicting my own story. hurrah.**

**I DO NOT OWN SUPERNATURAL OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS; ONLY MY OC, AUBREY MILLIGAN.**

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Christian tightened his grip on Aubrey's broken foot, eliciting a pained wail from Aubrey. She kept her eyes to the side, doing her best not to look down at the limb which was jutting out at an odd angle. Christian twisted it again, and Aubrey yelled—again. He let it go seconds after, giving it one last twist to the side, righting the bones.

A guttural groan escaped Aubrey's throat as she felt the familiar warmth rush from her chest down to her ankle, and then the pained healing process began.

"I'll ask again," Christian said, strutting so that he could lean directly over her. He smiled maliciously. "Where is it?"

"I don't know," Aubrey replied through gritted teeth, pushing her head back against the cold metal of the table beneath her as the tendons in her ankle fixed themselves.

"Do you want me to break your other foot?" The demon put his hand on her other foot and pressed down hard on the side, slowly letting it bend.

"I said I don't know!" Aubrey yelled, already feeling the pain slowly rising from her ankle as the bone twisted into an unnatural angle.

Above her, Christian sighed. For a moment, his pressure on her foot lightened, and he looked as if he wasn't going to break it. Aubrey was slowly beginning to believe it—more out of desperation than trust—when he pushed down on her foot again, harder than the previous time.

There was a gruesome snap. Aubrey keened, her wail resonating all across the room. She barely had time to recuperate, because only seconds after that did Christian twist her ankle again. Aubrey flinched hard, but as always, her restraints held fast, and they remained in place. In her agony, she could almost feel the friction as the bones there slid back into place. Below her sternum, she could still feel her ribs mending back together from where Christian had broken those only minutes before. And though her throat felt raw, she somehow managed a groan.

"I'm surprised at you," Christian said, holding up a finger from where he stood by her feet. "We haven't ever taken in a human who's lasted as long as you have. Most of them broke… some of them died. But then, you aren't human. Not really." He shrugged nonchalantly.

"I guess I should be honored." Her voice was hoarse, and it rubbed against the inside of her throat roughly. She gulped, though her mouth was dry as sandpaper. "How long?" She genuinely wanted to know. She didn't count the seconds pass by in her cell. She wasn't strong enough to tear her attention away from the pain as they sent wave after wave of agony inside of her.

The demon grinned. "Two days."

Her heart faltered. _Two days._ "Do I get a prize?"

Christian leaned closer to her face and cupped her chin, tilting it up slightly so that she could feel his breath fanning her face. It disgusted her to no end, but she could do nothing about it in the state she was in. "Only the pleasure of being in my company," he whispered gruffly in her ear.

Aubrey tore her chin away from his fingers, glaring all the while as he walked back around her and making his way to the end of the room, where there was a fire blazing beneath a mantle.

"You know," he started. "This would be so much easier for you if you'd just tell me where it was." At the sound of fire crackling, Aubrey craned her neck to find the demon holding some sort of branding iron in his hand. He held the end of it over the fire, and the flames surrounded it, turning it white hot. Aubrey's heart dropped and she started struggling against her restraints. He'd never branded her before, but she supposed that it was time for something new—apart from slicing, and cutting, and breaking her bones, that is.

The table groaned beneath her. Christian heard it, and turned his head slowly, a smirk already on the corners of his lips. "I think branding you would be appropriate, don't you think? Something the Winchesters would definitely want to see… if you got out of here, that is."

"_When_ I get out of here," Aubrey corrected with a smug smile. It disappeared when he stood up and turned around, and that was when Aubrey settled her eyes on the branding iron in his hand. The symbol at the end was one of a six-pointed star in the middle of a circle, and she thought it typical that the King of Hell would have one just lying around.

Christian was onto her in seconds, and Aubrey hardly had time to register that he had turned his eyes pitch black before he had pressed the branding iron into her skin.

Aubrey had been burned before, several times over when having to burn the creatures she hunted in order to kill them. And, in a way, being branded felt strangely similar; only imagine the pain all stuffed into one place and the heat threefold. That was how it felt like.

Unfortunately, Christian decided it best to keep the branding iron on her skin longer than necessary. As the heated metal remained on her scorched skin, Aubrey could feel her Power trying to heal the melted flesh.

That pain, combined with the fact that her skin was practically being burned over and over again, it was excruciating.

Sooner rather than later, Aubrey finally couldn't keep it back. Her screams tore through her throat, much like how a saw would through a tree trunk. Only a few seconds after she opened her mouth did Christian finally pull the branding iron away from her skin. Cold air immediately crashed in on the burn, making Aubrey gasp from the sudden intrusion. The singed skin stung slightly, and the flesh surrounding it throbbed, but that was nothing compared to the pain she felt when the burn started healing itself.

_Ironic, really,_ Aubrey thought to herself with a slight, weary smile. _That a creature supposedly made of flames would be hurt by flames._ It was equally ironic, as well, that she felt more agony in healing than she did during the actual branding.

It wasn't possible either. Ever since she'd taken back her Power, she'd been all but unaffected by fire. It would have simply passed over her skin, leaving no mark. This fire, obviously, was different. She heard the sound of flames crackling once more, and craned her neck to find Christian holding the branding iron onto the fire again. There was a smile on his face. Aubrey looked away, scoffing in disgust.

His head snapped to look at her. "Problem?"

Aubrey sighed, trying to ignore the throbbing pain on her hip where he had branded her. "Nothing," she said.

"Really?" He tilted his head, dropping both his arms to his sides and standing up, stepping closer to her.

After a moment, she turned her head and threw him a dark glare, smirking as smugly as she could. "Only that I want to shove that stick up your ass. Sadly, it isn't long enough to reach that bird brain of yours."

Something flashed across Christian's face, too fast for Aubrey to point out what it was, yet she was sure that it was something. She didn't have time to dwell on it before he had the branding iron once again on her skin; this time, he dug it into the spot above her navel.

Stars instantly danced across her vision. Aubrey closed her eyes, wailing as she strained against her restraints. The pain was similarly torturous, and though that time she already knew what to expect, she knew not how to keep her Power from flowing down her veins and starting on healing the damage inflicted immediately.

Christian held it there longer than he did before, and through hazy eyes Aubrey could see the crazed look on his face as he watched the metal singe through her flesh. She closed her eyes once more as another wave of agony crashed onto her. She heard someone say something; it might have been Christian, it might have not; but she couldn't focus enough to actually try and see who it had been.

And then it was gone.

In one brief second, it was gone; not the pain, of course, but the sizzling heat that was pressing against her stomach. Aubrey waited for the burn to return, counting the seconds that passed in her head like a mantra. When she reached ten, she opened her eyes, and could have sworn that she wished the branding iron had never left her navel.

Behind Christian, with his hands clasped behind his back and that ever smug look on his face, was the King of Hell himself.

Aubrey groaned, and watched through half-lidded eyes as Crowley walked up from behind the lesser demon, slipping past him easily in the open space of the torture chamber.

"You don't look too happy to see me, love," he said, smirking slightly.

"I'm not." Aubrey narrowed her eyes, the cold claw of fear gripping her heart. Why had he come? In truth, she'd been waiting, expecting. She still hadn't forgotten that little saying Christian had told her before. _"Not yet. Boss' orders,"_ he had said. Aubrey had been waiting for Crowley to take that order back.

But, of course, she kept a straight face and feigned annoyance, rolling her eyes. "You brought a burger for me, I hope?"

Crowley smirked again, making a throaty chuckle in the back of his throat as he shooed Christian away with a hand. _One hand._ At that simple, unspoken order, Christian turned around and made for the door. He opened it and took a step outside. Before he closed it, however, he threw Aubrey a glance over his shoulder; there was a malicious sparkle in his eyes as he winked, before closing the door behind him.

Aubrey was able to tear her eyes away from the door—her only possible form of escape if it weren't for the bonds holding her down—to look back to Crowley. He had paced closer to where she laid, his hands still clasped behind his back.

"The food here not good enough for you?" he said, raising an eyebrow.

"Your goons give me a bucket of water a day, rarely a meal," Aubrey retorted. "I'm pretty sure I look like a twig right now." She did, she was sure, as she had often stared down at her arms and legs while she was in her cell.

Crowley shrugged, his eyes travelling down to her stomach. "Look on the bright side, love," he said. "You've still got your abs… behind all those cuts and bruises, I mean."

She shifted underneath the enchanted leather bonds, not appreciating where his eyes were at. "I didn't know the King of Hell was an optimist."

He didn't smile. Instead, he said, "I paid your boys a visit today."

Aubrey's eyebrows shot up. Only slightly, a flare of hope rose up from within her chest, but she didn't allow it to go too far. She narrowed her eyes. "And?"

"Told 'em to bag me a live Alpha," Crowley replied. "Werewolf this time, though. That vamp is still downstairs playing Cricket with the girls."

Aubrey scoffed, shaking her head. "You really think they'll do it."

"I think they'd do it for their favorite family friend. Told 'em I'd make it worse for you if they didn't agree. You just be happy that they did. My imagination is _vast_."

Her face fell. She didn't give Sam and Dean enough credit, really, and for that she felt guilty. But she didn't allow it to show, and in its place, she put on a brave face. She said, "You said the same thing about Purgatory, and you can't even find _that_. Where's your brain now?"

Crowley wagged a finger at her. "It's a miracle you still have that haughtiness with you, love. I'm impressed. But back to business." He leaned over her slightly. "Where is Purgatory?"

Aubrey sighed. "I'm not telling you anything because _there's nothing for me to tell_."

He clucked at her. "Now, we both know that that's not true, darling. You know it, I know it, and you hate that I know it!"

"I don't know where it is," Aubrey insisted. "It's not something I can remember—"

"But you can remember everything else," Crowley cut in. "Your powers, your history, where you've been, how long you've been living on earth, yes?" Aubrey could sense the hint of impatience in his voice, and for some reason, it excited her a bit—because the King of Hell never lost his patience if it were caused by something so urgent.

Just to infuriate him more (which might not have been the best idea considering the situation and position she was in), she answered vaguely, "Bits and pieces."

Crowley pursed his lips and said, "See, I think that you _do_ remember where it's at. It's just buried beneath that brilliant hunter brain you're so proud of."

Aubrey bit the inside of her cheek, finally deciding with herself that she wasn't going to say anymore. Her body had gone numb from the exhaustion—exhaustion of healing, and of pain. She still felt it, though, when Crowley ran a finger down her shoulder to her arm, where he pressed on a particularly large bruise that was still healing up. Aubrey gulped back a yelp, instead staring him right in the eye. Crowley grinned before withdrawing his hand, and Aubrey barely held back a sigh of relief.

That disappeared when she saw him pick up the branding iron from where it sat on the metal table. He started strutting away from her, then, and to the fireplace. Aubrey's eyes flicked to the branding iron and to the flames in a jumpy manner, such that she finally couldn't help herself in her anxiety and fear.

"What is that?" she said, nodding to the flames when Crowley looked at her over his shoulder.

He raised an eyebrow. "It's Hellfire, love." When Aubrey stiffened, he smirked. "Bet you thought there was no such thing."

Aubrey swallowed back the growing lump in her throat. "Guilty."

"Well, now you know." He stood up, the end of the branding iron white hot with wisps of smoke curling from the tip as he walked to stand over Aubrey once more. "And now you know that something in this universe can actually burn you. Apart from iron, of course."

Even before the last words left his mouth, he had the branding iron held against her skin. And maybe Aubrey could have endured the pain for much longer if it were anywhere else, but it was the first time that _Crowley_ had been the one to torture her, and this time he held the heat to her thigh.

Aubrey had a good guess on why it hurt so much more, but the thought was lost to her as she was crushed beneath wave after wave of pain. A strong sweltering feeling ran up her thigh, reaching her navel while at the same time running down her legs. She wasn't able to hold back a scream, and when it tore through her throat Crowley pushed the branding iron harder against her skin. Stars danced across her vision.

"Tell me now," he said in a gruff voice, "and I won't hurt you more than I need to."

"That's a lie." It was actually some kind of miracle that Aubrey was able to glean enough strength from within her to say this, though it was through gritted teeth, and her voice broke.

"Now, love," Crowley started. "This will only get worse. Tell me now, and—"

"I don't know!" Aubrey shrieked, for he had pressed the iron even harder, and she was positive that it had dug into her skin at least a centimeter in. By then, the pain had almost become unbearable. Her vision was all but covered in spots; she could feel her heart pounding away in her chest, and even then she felt it shaking her skull. She strained against her bonds, desperate to be free of the agony. The mildly sharp edges of the leather dug into the skin of her wrists and ankles, but that pain was nothing compared to what Crowley wasn't taking away.

He persisted. At some point, he had pulled the branding iron away, only to place it against the skin on her chest, just above her heart. Between the moments, Aubrey had gotten no such relief. She didn't scream anymore, though, for her throat was already raw. Instead, she let the tears spill out from her eyes. They rolled steady streams down her cheeks as the iron stayed on the spot above her heart. Her skin tried to heal itself over and over again, only to have the unimaginable heat of the metal burn it away again.

For several long minutes, it became a continuous process. Crowley would go to the fireplace to reheat the branding iron, and it was at that time that he would ask Aubrey where Purgatory was. And Aubrey would say, "I don't know," and the King of Hell would walk back to her and put the iron upon her skin once more.

Aubrey didn't know how many times he asked her, but at some point she stopped answering, for she knew not of a way to get herself out of the situation. Would she lie? Lie about where Purgatory was? Where would it be, then?

It was impossible. But unbelievably, she still had the strength to hang onto her consciousness, but it was only—and always—barely.

Now, however, with the King of Hell burning through her skin in any possible place, Aubrey allowed herself to let go of that thread. She fell into the oblivion of her own mind, and there, she was able to glean the slightest bits of peace.

* * *

**TEASER:**

** Aubrey was only half-conscious when she heard her cell door creak open loudly. She didn't open her eyes, not wanting the last traces of serenity to leave her mind. It was, in the end, pointless.**

** Her eyes were still closed when she felt hands gruffly grab the back of her head, pulling at the hair there. She released a groan, and someone clucked in front of her. Then came a familiar voice, one she dreaded and knew all too well.**

** "We've hit a bit of a snag," Christian said. "The boss needs things to go a bit faster. So, you go there, make sure to remember the way, and come right back, got it?" That was when Aubrey felt the cold sharpness of a knife being pressed against her throat. She could hear the smugness dripping off his words when he said, "Safe trip."**

** There was friction, and she felt the sharp sting as the blade cut across her neck. Blood seeped out immediately, and she started choking. Her eyes flew open, but her vision was only focused for a few moments, enough for her to see Christian walking away from her cell. The door was closed.**

** It wasn't long before she started choking on her own blood, and she saw no more.**

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**i simply adore reviews! (please? ;_; )**


	17. Chapter 17

**AM I GETTING CRAFT YET? no? well shit.**

**I DO NOT OWN SUPERNATURAL OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS; ONLY MY OC - AUBREY MILLIGAN - AND SOME OF THIS PLOTLINE.**

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_ It didn't feel like she was awake. Not really._

_ She felt like she was asleep, and everything around her was just a very, very, vivid dream. The tall, golden grass; the sky, burning orange; and the massive tree that loomed above her, with its thick dark trunk—that was at least two times the width of Aubrey—and its fiery russet leaves. Aubrey lay beneath it, practically buried within the tall pasture. The thin undergrowth obscured most of her vision—as well as scratched against her arms and legs and cheeks—but she could still watch as the leaves floated down from the tree, onto the places surrounding her._

_ It was an odd sight. But the longer Aubrey stared, the more normal it seemed to her. For when one leaf fell from its branch, another grew back in its place. What was supposed to take years took only five short seconds._

_ Aubrey frowned, bringing her hand up to pull a stray leaf off her neck. As soon as she did, though, she noticed something was off. Seriously off. Her arm felt light, lighter than she was sure it should have been. But that wasn't what set her off; it was the fact that she could not remember anything. Anything at all._

_ Whenever Aubrey tried to think back, tried to recall how, why, or when she had gotten on that field, nothing came to mind. Absolutely _nothing_. It wasn't a reassuring feeling. And as far as she knew, there was nothing familiar about the grass or the trees; but the color of everything… it sent a tingling sensation down her spine._

_ The leaf felt foreign in her fingertips, yet wholly familiar; unnaturally light, and unnaturally warm. Aubrey stared deeply into its dry veins, and found that she could actually see the tiny molecules. They seemed to be moving around, shuffling so that it looked like the leaf was on fire—or fire itself._

_ It fell from her fingers as Aubrey dropped it, somewhat startled. She watched its slow spiral downward, and her frown deepened when it shimmered into nonexistence as soon as it touched the ground._

_ "The hell…?" Aubrey pulled herself onto her feet, and was once again surprised by the sense of weightlessness in her limbs. Due to the odd feeling, she leaned against the massive tree for support._

_ Wanting to distract herself, she started looking around. However, there was nothing to take note of. There was nothing else in the field but tall grass—and even that travelled as far as her eye could see. Not a house, or any other tree, or even a scarecrow to signal a change in scenery. The sky remained as it was; the clouds unmoving, blood red and giving Aubrey the illusion that maybe it was late in the afternoon._

_ But why was she there? Again, she tried to remember something—_anything_. Again, there was nothing. Not even a glimpse or a hint of where she had been the last time she was conscious…_

… _Or even _who_ she was._

_ That was when a dark blotch came into view. It was few ways off from where Aubrey stood, and she blinked, squinting to get a better look at the figure. It was tiny, considering how far it was, but it was definitely human. A man… no, a _boy_._

_ He was walking towards the tree where Aubrey stood by, slowly making progress. It seemed as if he didn't know where he was either—for he looked around with a deep frown (accompanied by a look of wonder) on his face. He was calm, though, and Aubrey forced herself to remain that way as well. The boy was garbed in khaki shorts that reached below his knee, and a navy green shirt that looked far too big on him. He had blonde hair, darker and messier than Aubrey's, and dark brown eyes, almost black. He was still very young, probably not even 13 yet. If Aubrey had to guess, she would have said he was 7._

If he has clothes, maybe I do too?_ It was a stupid thing to think, and Aubrey felt even stupider when she looked down at herself and found that she was, indeed, wearing clothes; jeans and a simple white shirt._

_ She raised her head once more and found the boy standing not five feet away from her, his hands tucked awkwardly at his sides and a wide-eyed look on his face. Aubrey smiled softly, though she was just as unnerved and confused as he was. "Hi there," she said, trying to keep her voice from shaking._

_ The boy clenched his fists and pursed his lips, and when Aubrey thought he was about to cry, for his eyes were getting teary, he puffed out his chest. "Hi," he said._

_ He seemed to be proud of that small act as well, and Aubrey let it pass with a light grin. "What's your name?" she asked, deflating slightly when the boy took a step back, shaking his head. She held her hands up. "Hey, I'm not gonna hurt you. You don't have to be scared." He stopped backing up, but didn't take a step forward anyway. A thought occurred to Aubrey and she raised an eyebrow. "Do you even remember your name?" She didn't._

_ When the boy didn't say anything, she sighed. "You don't have to answer that question." Aubrey shrugged, turning her attention to their surroundings. "Do you know where we are?"_

_ "No." His voice was a little louder that time, and Aubrey noticed the high pitch in it._

He must be so young._ "Do you remember where you were before you got here?"_

_ "No."_

_ "Do you remember _anything_?"_

_ "No."_

_ The boy frowned, and Aubrey sighed. "Same." She watched him cross his arms as his frown deepened, a pout growing on his thin lips. The sight was amusing, and she barely held back a laugh. "What is it?" she asked._

_ But all amusement escaped her when the boy's figure flashed. His clothes turned torn, black streaks running from every possible angle, on the cloth as well as his skin. His face became dirtied, and his hair messier than it already was. His white shoes disappeared. But that wasn't what Aubrey was looking at._

_ She was looking at the blood streaking down from the top of his head, trickling down across his face to his chin, and dripping onto his clothes._

_ Aubrey blinked, and in a moment, that disturbing sight was gone, replaced by the average boy standing in front of her. His arms were still crossed and he was still thinking deeply, but Aubrey shook him out of his stupor, no longer caring whether he wanted her to touch him or not._

_ She strode to him quickly and grabbed his shoulders, crouching so that they were eye to eye. Somehow, she knew that he could see the confused—and maybe slightly crazed—look in her eyes when she said, "What was that?"_

_ "What was what?"_

_ "I saw… I don't know what I saw." Aubrey shook her head. "You were all dirty and your head was bleeding…" She trailed off as soon as she noticed the frightened expression creeping onto the boy's face. She forced out a small laugh, taking her hands off his shoulders. "I'm just joking with you."_

_ That helped, but only a little. The boy wasn't scared anymore, but even more confused than he was before. Aubrey blamed herself for that. She turned around and walked back to the massive tree, where she set herself down on the ground with her back against the trunk. She watched as the boy hesitantly sat down beside her._

_ Minutes passed on in silence, which Aubrey was surprised to find that neither of them minded. There was no other sound except for their breathing and the falling of the fiery leaves, not even a slight gush of wind to blow at the tall grass, or the sounds of small animals moving about in the undergrowth. At some point, the boy grew curious with the falling leaves as well. He picked up one that had fallen beside him, turned it over and over in his fingers, and scrutinized it with narrowed eyes._

_ "It looks like fire," he remarked, not taking his eyes off the leaf as he said so, though Aubrey heard the note of pride in his voice._

_ She smiled. "I know."_

_ "Why?"_

_ He turned his head to look at her, but Aubrey wasn't focusing on their conversation anymore. The air had turned hotter, and she was more focused on how sweat had already started trickling down her brow in less than a minute._

_ Beside her, the boy started rubbing his neck. "It's hot," he complained. Aubrey only grunted in agreement, her eyes travelling to the golden grass that surrounded them. They seemed to wave, but that was impossible considering that there was no wind._

_ They continued to sway, back and forth. Above her and the boy, Aubrey noticed that the leaves of the tree started falling faster than it had been only mere seconds before. A sickened feeling crept into her stomach, for the more she blinked, the more it looked like everything was on fire; the grass the flame, with the falling leaves its tongues. Everything might just have been an illusion, but it soon came to a point when the temperature grew so high that it was impossible that it wasn't. Aubrey resisted the urge to wail, but with ever second that passed it grew harder, because the boy beside her had curled up into a ball and was screaming his lungs out._

_ As scorching hot as it was, no blisters or burns appeared on either of their bodies'. All the same, it felt like they were burning. Aubrey was sure that anyone who would have stayed there for as long as they had would have been dead already, either from the burns or from the pain. But it seemed as if it didn't matter how long they had stayed or how agonizing it was. It did nothing to relieve them. At that moment, Aubrey wasn't ashamed to feel that she wanted to die; just so the pain would end._

_ It was unlike any other agony she had felt before—and for some reason, a part of her told her that she had felt all kinds of pain. And if she felt like that, she was afraid to know what the boy beside her must have been feeling._

_ A sort of protectiveness edged into her, and suddenly Aubrey found the will to move. It was torturous just to lift her arm; imagine when she lifted both, inched closer to the boy, and wrapped them around his tiny frame._

_ He convulsed against her chest, kicking and yelling at the same time. Aubrey could have done the same, but she focused all her willpower on keeping the boy in her arms. She had turned them around so that her back was to the flaming grass, and that the boy in her arms was facing the massive tree. As if it would make any difference._

_ The heat did not waver in the slightest—for either of them, it seemed. Aubrey sobbed once, but no tears came forth, as it was impossible in the temperature they were in, so she started screaming as well._

_ In her mind, images started flashing to existence, but only in her mind. There was a scene where a girl with yellow hair was lying in bed with a young man. It took only a few seconds for Aubrey to realize that the girl was her. The room she and the man were in was dark, but she could make her face out in the darkness._

_ Several similar scenes after that (through the pain, Aubrey shunned herself for sleeping with so many men, but honestly, she could remember none of it), a different sight came to view. Once again, Aubrey was in it, but she was not in a bed._

_ She was standing in what seemed to be a graveyard, with a dug-up grave in front of her. By the looks of it, it seemed that she was the one who dug it up. There was a lighter in her hands, and just before the scene faded, Aubrey saw herself drop the lighter into the grave._

_ After that, Aubrey saw herself standing in a pool of blood, several men and women lying before her, dead._

_ Once that scene changed, it became impossible for Aubrey to make out any of what came next, for they flashed across her mind as fast as lightning. She saw only glimpses, but before she could latch onto one they had already gone._

_ And then she heard a voice._

_ It was undoubtedly a man. He said, __**"Through the flames of Purgatory, you have been absolved of your sins. Daughter of heaven, rise, so that you may continue to protect the flickering flame. By the will of God, you will walk the Earth once more, not to suffer all these things twicefold, but that you may rebuild the species that has been lost. This is thine Father's will, and so it shall be done."**_

_ The voice was a painfully loud echo in her head, but as he spoke, a cool sort of calm washed over Aubrey. Seconds passed, and by that time the heat was all but forgotten. In her arms, the boy stopped screaming as well. His eyes were wide, and Aubrey only assumed that he had heard the voice too._

_ A few more seconds passed. Luckily, neither of them felt the heat again. The grass stopped swaying, and the leaves stopped falling. Aubrey took a moment to collect her thoughts before opening her arms. The boy unceremoniously fell out of her embrace and landed on his behind, but he didn't seem to mind._

_ He stared up at her with wide eyes, breathing heavily. "What—"_

_ Before he could say anything else, Aubrey felt a hand wrap around her shoulder. It was unnaturally hot, and she winced, for the heat had just left her and she was only starting to enjoy the newfound coolness._

_ Suddenly, the golden field before her was no more. Instead, scenes once again started flashing before her eyes. There was one where she was standing in a room with three more men, one of whom had a tan trench coat on and the bluest eyes that she had ever seen; another, where she was standing by a lamp post on a dark sidewalk. She was yelling something, but Aubrey could not hear nor make out the words._

_ There was another where she was sitting around a table with the same three men from the first vision, drinking from tiny glasses and laughing; next was where she was standing in a clearing beneath a starry sky, with the man in the trench coat. Their lips were touching, and Aubrey found that, during that particular scene, her heart fluttered in her chest._

_ Though it was gone as soon as it came, replaced by a scene where the man in the trench coat and another man—one with dark skin—were standing in the middle of a dimly lit room. The one with the dark skin had a knife raised, looking as if he was about to stab the one in the trench coat. But in a flash of yellow hair, a figure had come flying into view, ramming against the dark-skinned man and knocking him to the ground._

_ After that, everything went black. Aubrey didn't know if her eyes were closed or if she was just dead; either one seemed fine with her. Her only worry was the boy. Would he remain in that field? Or would he get out as well? As the man's voice had told her before, would he "rise" too?_

_ Aubrey had a vague feeling that she was still conscious, but only barely. That didn't last for long, though._

_ And the last thing she heard was a man's voice, but not the same one as before. This one was different; it was rougher, and seemed to hold more feeling—to Aubrey, it _felt_ (as well as sounded) like affection._

_ "You're safe now, Aubrey," he said._

* * *

Her eyes weren't even open yet, but her first instinct was to scream. She did, and it escaped her mouth in a shrill sort of yell. Aubrey was surprised at how strong her voice was, even more so when she didn't even have to think very hard in order to remember _everything_.

The memories came in shorts bursts, more like flickering images in her head than they were scenes. Beside everything else, her strongest recollection was the pain. In a lit room with dark walls, she was lying nude on a metal table with her hands and feet bound to her sides, with a thick leather strap travelling over her chest and navel, and there was _pain_. Pain that tore through her flesh; pain that cut to her bones; burning, fiery pain.

For a moment, it was all she saw, and it was all she felt. The pain. Then a strange sort of calm passed through her, acting as a balm for her mind as the torturous memories receded the same time she stopped sobbing. The cool sensation travelled all throughout her body, chilling her to the bone, but it was the good sort of cool. She waited a few seconds, finding comfort in the sensation. Only when she noticed the familiar feeling of being watched did she open her eyes.

Her vision was blurry, and at first she was only able to make out a large figure looming over her. Everything around him was dark, only bringing more contrast to the color of his eyes; they weren't green. Aubrey did not know why she thought she would see green eyes. Instead, she saw blue. Bright blue. That one fact was enough for her to deduct exactly who it was that stood over her. Her heart exploded in reprieve, a relief so strong that a tear trickled out of the corner of her eye.

Despite the firmness of her voice only seconds before, this time, it broke when she said, "Cas?"

"Hello, Aubrey." The angel might have smiled, but the sight was soon lost in Aubrey's flurry of tears.

She sat up—barely taking note that she was lying in a bed—and threw her arms over his shoulders, pulling him down in her tight embrace. He stiffened in her arms, but Aubrey didn't care. She sobbed into his shoulder, wetting his coat with her tears.

"You came," she kept muttering. "You came, you came, you came…"

"Sam and Dean insisted that I did—" He cut himself off, which might have piqued Aubrey's curiosity if it weren't for the state she was in. After a considerable amount of time, he just ended up saying, "Yes." It was a simple statement, one Aubrey should have expected of him. But she hadn't heard the angel's sense of straightforwardness in so long that it only ended up breaking her down even more.

Seconds, maybe even _minutes_ passed. In those minutes, Castiel had moved them into a more comfortable position, with him sitting cross-legged at the edge of the bed and Aubrey's head tucked into his chest. His arms were wound tight around her. Aubrey was aware that they had never touched in such a way before.

After a while, she asked, "So am I forgiven?"

The angel stiffened against her. "For what?"

"For taking it back?" she explained, referring to her Power.

She didn't need to explain herself. "You're forgiven," he replied, and Aubrey allowed herself to drift deeper into her newfound peace.

Of course, tranquility like that never lasted very long for a hunter. The angel's chin was buried in the hair on the top of Aubrey's head when she heard the door creak open. When no other sound came except for it closing, Aubrey slowly pulled away from Castiel's hold. He followed suit, and both of them craned their necks to find Dean standing at the other end of the room, with paper bags in his arms and a shocked look on his face.

Seconds passed with him just staring at her, and her at him; but as expected, it was Dean who broke the wall of stillness. He dropped his bags and walked to the bed with long strides.

However, Aubrey did _not_ expect him to capture her in a hug. She returned it with equal vigor, nevertheless, but she noticed when Castiel moved away to give Dean the space he needed. She frowned slightly at the loss of intimacy between them, but quickly grew aware of the older Winchester tightening his grip on her. She did the same.

"Welcome back, Aub," he said, and at the mention of her lame nickname, she sighed deeply and allowed herself to wade deeper into her newfound glee.

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**reviewsssss please :(:**


	18. Chapter 18

**I DO NOT OWN ANY OF THE CHARACTERS FROM SUPERNATURAL; ONLY MY OC, AUBREY MILLIGAN, AND NOT EVEN A QUARTER OF THIS PLOT.**

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_I look disgusting,_ was her first thought. _Absolutely friggin' disgusting._

Aubrey stood in front of the bathroom mirror with her arms hanging limp at her sides, a pile of clean clothes waiting for her on the lid of the toilet. (She tried not to think about how dirty the lid must have been, focusing on the condition of her body, but she found it increasingly difficult.)

Her arms and legs looked like white sticks, to put it bluntly. Aubrey could see each one of her ribs jutting out from behind the gaunt skin on her stomach, which was as sunken as the Titanic. The same went for her cheeks. Her hair looked like a tiny eagle had nested in it—and was still there. But, Aubrey decided that none of these were the worst.

No, the worst were her eyes.

Apart from the fact that her lids were dark and there were multiple bags below her eyes, the once vibrant hazel color of her irises had turned dull. Lifeless, almost. And behind that lifelessness was the pain that either of the boys waiting for her outside—and anyone else in the whole world—should have to experience.

She blamed the King of Hell and his goons for taking away her sense of self-worth, because standing in front of the mirror and looking at herself, Aubrey had never felt so insignificant in her life. But it wasn't just because of her body, or even her eyes; it was the _fear_ inside her. It had taken root, found a home somewhere behind her walls, and she hated it with every fibrer in her body. Before being taken into Crowley's hold, she never feared pain.

Now, however, there was a constant sense of distress and anxiety in her. She could feel it even as she stood beneath the showerhead, as she let the warm water beat onto her back, as she dried herself off and pulled a red shirt over her head and when she (easily) slipped on a pair of jeans.

By then, her hair had decided to cooperate. It no longer spoofed about her head, but hung in heaps of blonde tangles. Aubrey snatched a comb from the medicine cabinet and started sorting through the mess, grimacing as she did so.

To her surprise, her limbs were stronger than she'd previously expected. Considering the haggard and bony state of her body, one would expect that she wouldn't be able to pull at the tangles in her hair so hard. But she did, and whenever she did, the comb would come out with either one or two knots of hair stuck between its teeth.

As she walked out of the bathroom, Aubrey was fairly sure that she had more than a few bald spots. But when neither Cas nor Dean mentioned anything, she quickly dismissed the thought and took a seat across from the two. Seconds passed, with none of them showing any signs of saying anything. Aubrey didn't let it go on for more than a minute.

"Where's Sam?" she asked, noticing the younger brother's absence. Her voice was hoarse, but she'd expected as much; she'd yelled her throat raw the first time she woke up beneath the sheets. When Dean shifted on his seat, looking uncomfortable, she raised an eyebrow. "Another fight?"

Dean shrugged, not meeting her gaze. "You could say that."

Aubrey sighed heavily. She didn't expect the brothers to have fought right after saving her from her prison. The thought actually saddened her. Deciding to change the subject, she asked, "How long?" She grabbed for one of the burgers laid out in the table in front of them.

She didn't wait for one of the boys to answer before unwrapping the plastic and digging into the burger inside. Truthfully, she hoped that all four were for her. She was ravenous.

"About a week," Dean finally answered.

_Well that explains it._ Aubrey paused in her chewing, though. Apart from the fact that she'd been in that hellhole being tortured for a week—maybe more—she was surprised with herself for holding out for so long. Christian had told her that most of the humans they had held before never lasted more than two days.

But then again, she wasn't human.

"It took you a week to find me?" she quipped, but her little amusement vanished when the two men lowered their gazes. She leaned forward, forcing both of them to raise their heads and look at her. She smiled softly. "I was joking."

Dean released a breathy chortle, but otherwise said no more.

Frowning, Aubrey took another bite out of her burger, chewing it slowly before swallowing. "So how'd you find me?" she asked, but then added, "No, better yet, how'd you get in and get out with me sacked over your shoulder?"

"Well," Dean started, tilting his head slightly and eyeing the burgers. "Samuel helped with the finding, and…"

_Crowley's bitch,_ Aubrey thought, unease coiling in the pit of her stomach. "Hang on," she said, effectively cutting off whatever Dean was about to say next. She smiled sheepishly. Truth be told, she was thankful that they were letting her ask her questions first. God knows they had some of their own for her.

"Why did Samuel help you?" she continued in a softer tone. "He was willing to throw us over to Crowley last time we—" She stopped, a memory flitting into mind. _The last time I saw him was when Crowley abducted me…_ Aubrey shook her head slightly, forcing the memory away. She continued. "… Last time we heard of him."

Dean bobbed his head. "He helped us find the place, doesn't mean he didn't hand us over when we got in." Aubrey was about to voice her inquiries about that when he held up his hand. "Doesn't matter. We outsmarted him anyway. As for the getting in and getting out part… You remember Meg?"

"Human-Meg or demon-Meg?"

"Demon-Meg."

"Yeah…" Aubrey frowned, noticing the way he shared a look with Castiel. "Please tell me you ganked her and sawed some help out of her." Neither of the men answered, and the explanation was practically on their faces. "You did not!"

"We had to," Dean insisted defensively. "We needed all the help we could get—"

"An angel would have been enough, don't you think?!"

"Cas wouldn't have been enough and you know it."

"_Hunters_ don't ask help from _demons_, Dean!"

"You think I don't know that?" Dean yelled. "I knew what we were walking into the moment Sam offered, but we did it anyway. You wanna know why? _Because it was the only way to get you out_."

Aubrey retreated into a stunned silence, but Dean continued. "When we found you in that cell, there was so much blood… we didn't know what to think. We thought you were dead, but Cas… he told us that your soul was still intact. So we took you back."

Both he and Aubrey looked to the angel, but Cas was only looking at the latter, a knowing glint in his eye. She smiled at him before lowering her gaze in shame.

What had she just said? She should have thought of that; that the boys would do anything they could to get her out. It surprised her that, after all the months of knowing and trusting each other, she still couldn't get over the fact that _any _of them (maybe with the exception of without-soul-Sam) would go into such extreme lengths to save the other.

She hung her head low when she said, "Sorry." A soft grunt came as a reply, and she raised her head slightly to look at Dean, asking, "Did it work?"

It was a few seconds before she heard Dean sigh. "Yeah, it worked," he said. "Meg got away though. We were supposed to kill her too."

_Too?_ Aubrey took a moment to ponder on that word before an idea flickered into existence in her head. She straightened up. "And Crowley?"

Dean must have heard the utter hatred in her voice, for he raised her head and looked at her with narrowed eyes. "Cas burned his bones," he said.

Aubrey literally had to restrain herself from jumping onto her feet and yelling "HELL YEAH!" doing so by wringing her wrists. She did, however, drop her burger. And this didn't go unnoticed by either of the two men sitting across from her, for they raised their eyebrows.

"What?" Aubrey said defensively. "You guys may hate him, but you didn't get strapped to a table and get tortured by him." She took a moment to take in their guilty faces. Once she was satisfied, she stooped down to pick her burger off the floor. She asked, "Is he dead? I mean, is he coming back or what?"

"We can't know for sure." This time, it was Cas who answered. It was the first complete sentence Aubrey had heard him say in so long; for some reason, a shudder ran through her. The angel continued. "Considering the fact that Crowley isn't a common demon, he may still be able to come back."

"Yeah," Dean agreed. "If he weren't King of Hell we would've ganked him by now. Believe me." He looked at Aubrey earnestly, as if making a promise.

Aubrey grinned at him appreciatively. "I don't see how you can take away his title as King of friggin' Hell, but I'll hold you to that."

"Deal."

In the course of fifteen minutes, Aubrey was able to finish three burgers and one and a half cups of soda. Of course, she was aware of the men watching her every move from where they sat, and she slowed down her eating process as much as she could, but it still ended in fifteen minutes flat.

She leaned back, muffling a burp with the back of her hand. Dean chuckled lightly, and offered her his handkerchief. She accepted it gratefully, about to bring it up to her mouth when the printed design on it stopped her cold; for against the dark cloth were bright orange flames.

For the second time since she woke up, memories flashed across her mind; mostly of fire. By then, she was practically holding the handkerchief to her mouth like how a burglar would to a hostage. Despite the fact that it was making it hard for her to breathe, she didn't pull it away, not wanting to see the fire again. Across from her, Castiel and Dean watched with concerned eyes. Thankfully they had deducted enough as to what was happening with her.

Castiel leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees so that his hands were clasped in front of him. He wrung his wrists slowly, looking down at them, and only looking up to Aubrey when he said, "What did they do to you, Aubrey?"

She smiled humorlessly, cautiously putting the black handkerchief down beside her without looking at it, but at the floor. "Beat me, hacked at me, burned me… they killed me." Her voice broke, and she distressfully ran a hand over her face. "And I think it was just the day before you rescued me too. Christian told me they'd 'hit a snag'."

Dean's eyes widened. "_Christian_?" Aubrey nodded but didn't say anything else, afraid that her voice would fail her completely.

A few seconds of silence passed before Castiel spoke up. "You went to Purgatory," he said. It wasn't a question, but Aubrey bobbed her head once anyway, just to be sure. The angel's frown deepened, and he leaned back. "That explains why you look so clean."

The corner of Aubrey's lip twitched up in a smile, and she looked at the angel through her eyelashes. "I _did_ just take a bath, Cas."

"I meant," he added quickly, "that all the injuries you've acquired are gone. Even the scars."

Frowning, Aubrey recalled where Christian had placed his knife on her most times. She held her breath and pulled her shirt up. On her stomach, where there were supposed to be at least twelve or so scars, was nothing but smooth, pale skin. Why hadn't she noticed before in the bathroom? She quickly dropped her shirt again and pulled the hem of her neckline down, revealing a woundless collarbone.

A tinge of sadness crept into her, as she found that she didn't really want the scars to go away. She wanted to keep them, as a reminder that she had to kill Crowley, right after Christian. Not that she would have forgotten.

She returned her neckline to its proper place as Dean said, "You mean Purgatory healed every scar, every injury she's ever got?"

"It's not just her body," Castiel stated, meeting Aubrey's gaze with his knowing eyes. "But her soul as well."

Dean shifted on his seat, crinkling his nose. "What do you mean 'her soul'?"

"He means I'm clean," Aubrey interrupted. Her eyes were still on the angel, and he nodded slightly. "Purgatory erased all my sins." She could have sworn that Dean almost choked on his beer. She smiled slightly, raising an eyebrow and crossing her arms. "Oh, is it so hard to believe that I can be _sinless_?"

"Yes!"

"It's actually very normal," Castiel cut in. "Phoenixes are the purest of creatures next to angels and archangels. They didn't eat the Forbidden Fruit in the Garden of Eden. It's why they don't die… technically."

Dean stared at the angel oddly. "Thanks for the history lesson, Cas. Didn't really need to know that—"

"So!" Aubrey raised her voice slightly, not too much but enough for her to overpower Dean's. He closed his mouth and looked at her. She clapped her hands, rubbing them together as she said, "Anything else interesting happen while I was gone?"

Dean looked up at the ceiling, thinking about it for a moment before saying, "Well, two days ago Cas got his first boner."

* * *

** "What are we going to do with Sam?" Aubrey asked, to which Dean pursed his lips.**

* * *

She stood on the sidewalk, wedged in-between Dean and Castiel as the three of them stared at the Chinese shop across the street. Aubrey wasn't really sure exactly what kind of shop it was, but considering the number of people who went in and out, it was undeniably a shop.

"This is a shit idea," she said, bobbing her head once with pursed lips before looking to Dean.

Beside her, Castiel sighed. "I must agree, Dean, this is indeed a… shit idea." Aubrey grinned. She'd never gotten him to curse before. "Death isn't known to be very sympathetic. And I am still reluctant about giving Sam his soul back."

"Thank you, Captain Obvious. Look, it's not like we have any other ideas." Dean rolled his eyes, completely ignoring the mention of the angel being hesitant. "And besides, if he says no, how bad could it be?"

"He could decide to kill you on the spot," Aubrey said, before adding, "God knows that's what Crowley did to me."

Dean looked at her sternly. "Are you _guilt-tripping_ me?"

"I'm just saying." Aubrey sighed. She still had not taken her eyes off the restaurant sign when she felt eyes on her, and she turned to find Castiel staring at her through the corners of his eyes. She raised an eyebrow. "What?"

The angel frowned slightly. "I apologize for not finding you sooner. I didn't know until Dean called on me."

Aubrey smiled softly. "I don't blame you, Cas," she said. "You couldn't have found me even if you tried, without Samuel."

"I still apologize."

She placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it gently, offering him another smile. "It's fine."

They stayed in that position for a while longer, eyes locked, and a growing feeling starting in their stomachs. In the peak of it, Castiel tore his gaze away from hers, looking to the sky instead. A dark look flashed across his face and Aubrey sighed, pulling her hand away. His head snapped back down to her and she pursed her lips. "Still that bad, huh?"

He nodded. "I must return."

"Go."

The next moment, there was no one in front of her, as only she and Dean stood on the sidewalk. Her stomach tightened slightly as she turned around and found Dean looking at her with his eyebrows furrowed together. She released an exclamatory sigh, throwing her hands in the air. "What is it _now_—"

"Cas kissed Meg."

The coil in her stomach unfurled in one quick motion, and it was all she could do not to stop breathing. Aubrey swallowed thickly, making sure she could still feel it, but when she spoke, her voice was strained. "What?"

"Cas kissed Meg," Dean repeated, and it was then that Aubrey noticed it was sympathy in his eyes. "It was two nights ago, when we were in Crowley's facility to get you. Hellhounds were on our tail. Meg was gonna stay behind to fend them off and it just… happened."

Again, Aubrey swallowed. Was she feeling jealous? Angry? Why was she _either_? There was nothing going on between her and the angel. She didn't have the right to feel anything like that towards him.

"Meg kissed him first though," Dean offered, but it didn't help any.

Of course, she didn't show it. She let a cool expression pass over her face, and it stayed there when she said, "You should go in. You might miss him."

For a moment, she thought he was going to tell her out. He didn't, instead pursing his lips before nodding his head. "Yeah, you're right. I'll be back soon."

Aubrey raised a half-feeling eyebrow. "And if not?"

The older brother smirked slightly. "Don't invite too many to my funeral."

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**reviewsss reviews reviews reviewsssss~~**


	19. Chapter 19

**I DO NOT OWN ANY OF THE CHARACTERS OF SUPERNATURAL; ONLY MY OC -AUBREY MILLIGAN- AND A QUARTER OF THIS PLOT.**

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Buildings and cars flew past as Aubrey drove through town. There really was no set destination for her. She merely wanted a day to herself, spent with her own thoughts, her own demons. Of course, she was reluctant about leaving soulless-Sam with Bobby, but she was positive that the old hillbilly could handle him on his own.

Accepting Death's offer—to _be_ Death—was stupid on Dean's part; even seeking it was foolish. But even Aubrey had to admit that there wasn't any other choice. A wall to keep back the memories was better than having Sam live it. Aubrey wished she had the same option. But then, in a way, she already did. She had a wall as well, presumably stronger and thicker than Sam's would be, because God knows how hard she's been scratching it. Some days she would, and the only thing she would remember was burning pain. But there was something else too. Smooth grass prickling her skin, the dark trunk of a very large tree, with leaves the color of—

It never went farther than that.

Aubrey's sideview was obscured by a particularly thick row of trees, and once she drove past that, there was a park. Close-cropped grass, trees surrounding it like a barricade. Children played games on the grass to which Aubrey barely knew the names of. They laughed, shouting incoherent things to each other. All the way across the field of grass was a lone bench. No one sat on it, and judging from how far it was from the frolicking children, Aubrey knew that their noise wouldn't be heard from there.

It was the perfect spot to think. Aubrey never liked overly-isolated places.

She parked the Impala, which Dean had so generously let her borrow—on the condition that she not drive it into anything, that is.

Stepping out of the car, she allowed herself to breathe in the fresh air. It was warm and humid, but refreshingly so. Aubrey pushed her hands deep into her jacket's pockets before starting on her stroll to the bench several feet away.

No one walked up to her (as she'd expected), and no one interrupted her thinking; for during that time, her thoughts had wandered to what Dean could have been doing at that moment. Could he have been walking around the city? Could he have been putting some poor bastard's soul to rest? Aubrey had heard of a railway incident somewhere in North Virginia; could he have been there? Or, could he have been sitting beside her? Aubrey couldn't see Death, or any kind of spirit that didn't want to be seen, for that matter. It was a trait she hadn't had the pleasure of inheriting as a Phoenix, unfortunately so.

At the thought of that—of the word _Phoenix_—her mind slowly started on its way to her Powers. What were they? How _many_ were they? Were they awesome? (Aubrey hoped they were.) She only knew of one: the ability to change her body temperature at will.

During her first few months as a true Phoenix, she'd been trying to hone it. And she'd only ever used it once, during their encounter with the goddess Veritas. She'd burned through her ropes, and ever since then she'd been using it more often. Regrettably, it was for less important things; like melting an ice cube in less than ten seconds, or heating up her bath water.

Suffice it to say, Aubrey had mastered the ability.

But there was more. Aubrey _knew_ there was more to being a Phoenix than that. Archangels didn't want her kind dead just because she could throw them a sizzling middle finger. What powers could the Phoenixes have that would let them level an entire city?

Her thoughts were interrupted, then, when the children's laughter abruptly stopped. Eerie silence wafted all throughout the park. Aubrey counted to ten before raising her head.

The children were gone; or, at least, not where they were before. There had been about twelve to fifteen of them. Now, there were only five. They had all gathered by the base of a tree across the field, forming a circle. Even from afar, Aubrey could discern that there was someone in the middle of that circle. She stood up.

They were talking, now; rambling on to the figure in the middle of their circle. It was through their sneers and sharp movements that Aubrey found out what they were _really_ doing.

A scowl already etched on her face, she strode towards the group, and reached it in seconds.

"Good afternoon, guys," she said, trying to simmer down her annoyance. All at once, the children turned around to face her. Aubrey smirked at the wide-eyed looks on their faces. They didn't part, though, keeping the figure in the middle of their circle hidden. Aubrey continued. "What's going on here?"

"N-nothing," one of them stuttered, making Aubrey raise an eyebrow.

"You sure?"

The kids didn't answer that time, instead sharing anxious glances with each other. It was then that Aubrey noticed they were all boys.

Then one of them—the oldest, it seemed—stepped forward with his arms crossed. "Who are you supposed to be?" he demanded, putting on a brave face even though Aubrey could see right through it.

Aubrey pulled her badge—fake, but one she kept with her at all times—out of her pocket, showing it to the astounded children. She didn't need to say her (forged) name; one, because the sound of it irritated her to no end, and two, because the kids already got the message. She sighed and said, "Go home, kids," eager to let the current events pass.

As was her order, the group parted quickly, and Aubrey was aware of the lone figure that remained, but she kept her eyes on the bullies as they left, only looking away when they were out of eyeshot.

One she _did_ turn her gaze to the only child left, her breath hitched in her throat.

He couldn't have been more than 8 years old and yet the shock of blonde hair and dark eyes made Aubrey freeze. _I've seen him before._ On instinct, she started scratching at the wall in her mind, at that moment thinking of nothing more except that she had to find out where she'd seen this boy before. Suddenly, images started flashing before her eyes: ground made of shifting gold, which was equally as startling as the sky, and a burning tree. Amidst all that was a boy. And that was all Aubrey needed to see.

She extricated herself from the sea of memories, and when her consciousness was once again in the middle of the park, with a young blonde boy curled up in a sitting position in front of her; Aubrey was barely able to respond to his word of thanks.

"Hm? Oh—no problem," she managed to say. Aubrey brought a hand to her head, forcing a reassuring smile to the confused boy. "What did you say your name was again?"

The boy blinked twice before answering. "Aiden."

His voice was small, and Aubrey was surprised when even _that_ struck a chord in her brain. "What were those kids telling you, Aiden?" she asked as softly as she could.

He uncurled his legs so that they lay sprawled in front of him, wiping his nose as he did so. "They're just bullies," he muttered.

"Bullies tend to go too far, given time." Aubrey tilted her head to the side slightly. "Do your parents know?"

"No."

Aubrey spread her arms about her. "There's your problem. Parents would fix that problem easy."

Aiden's frown deepened. "My mom doesn't like me either."

"I'm sure that's not true."

"It is. My mom talks with other parents. They say I'm a freak."

"How about your dad?" Aubrey frowned when the boy only shrugged.

Instantly, she switched to her responsible-adult side. She hated bullies, but the one thing she absolutely would _not_ stand for (apart from demons and anything else from hell) was abusive parents—be it physically or emotionally.

"Why do they call you a freak?" she prompted in a firm, yet gentle, voice.

Aiden sniffed. "Because a few days ago I got hit by a car and I'm supposed to be dead."

Aubrey's eyes widened. _Hit by a car…?_ Then, putting the pieces together in her head—the flashbacks, the odd familiarity, Aiden's situation—her eyes widened. "Shit."

She knew she shouldn't have cursed in front of someone so young, but no one ever said she was a good role model. The pieces fit together perfectly. They shook, banging against the wall in her brain that was all that kept back the memories of Purgatory. There seemed to be a crack in it, though, because God knows how many flashbacks she'd already had. This boy, Aiden, had somehow survived a car accident, and yet the way he phrased it—_"I'm supposed to be dead"_—changed Aubrey's perspective on it completely.

This boy had got hit by a car and _died_, yet he was standing in front of her, very much real and not a ghost.

Aubrey had to push herself to respond to his question—"Are you okay?"—but it was difficult through the shock. She was shocked, astounded, and maybe slightly excited (she shouldn't have been) because this boy had gone to Purgatory and back.

It wasn't much to Aubrey's embarrassment that she interrupted the boy whilst he was speaking. "I'll walk you home," she said, cutting him off on his question because she really didn't know what else there was to say. It wasn't as if they could talk about Purgatory. Aubrey didn't even know if he could remember. And if he didn't, she didn't want to be the one to _make_ him remember. Purgatory was horrible, painful; but there were brief flashes in her mind in which Aubrey felt her arms wrapped around a particularly small frame.

The boy looked as if he was about to argue, but Aubrey raised an eyebrow, and he closed his mouth. Without another word, she put a hand on his shoulder, barely touching it as she nodded at him with a soft smile, silently telling him to lead the way. After a few seconds, he nodded his head and they started on their way down the park, across the street, and to wherever the boy's home was.

* * *

Once they arrived at his house, Aubrey was the one to press on the doorbell. The door opened a few moments later, revealing a lean, dark-haired man who was probably still in his early-thirties. His previously carefree air disappeared as soon as his eyes settled on Aubrey. _She_, however, was intent on keeping the conversation light and open. (It was then that she was grateful for Bobby suggesting she wear a jacket so that no one would notice how skinny she had gotten.)

"Hi there," she said, smiling pleasantly, even wider when the man returned it, albeit hesitantly.

"Hi," he replied, his eyes flitting down to Aiden then back up to Aubrey. He blinked, laughing nervously. "I'm sorry but… do I know you?"

"No, actually." Aubrey looked down to Aiden, squeezing his shoulder slightly. "I found Aiden here alone at the park. Just thought it'd be best if I walked him back here. Thankfully he didn't yell 'stranger danger'!" she finished, chuckling lightly.

To her relief, the man cracked a smile. "Oh, thank you then."

Thinking better, she quickly held her hand out. "I'm Jenna. Jenna Clarke." _Ugh._

The father took her hand in his and, with a firm grip, gave it a single shake. "Greg Bishop."

That was when Aiden slowly peeled himself away from Aubrey, leaning towards his father. Aubrey smiled slightly when Greg pulled him to his side with his arm around his shoulders. He leaned down, muttering a quick greeting to his son—"Hey there, buddy"—before looking back up to Aubrey. "I'm sorry that you had to bother. Aiden doesn't have many friends in the neighborhood."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Aubrey said, pursing her lips. "It was my pleasure though. Aiden seems to be a very smart boy." She smiled at the child, who, to her surprise, wasn't very reluctant to return it.

"He is," the father replied, pulling the boy even tighter to his side. "Not many people know it yet, but he is."

Aubrey smiled just as Aiden pulled away from his father, running deeper into the house and to what looked to be the living room. She watched him disappear, worry coiling in her stomach. "Where's his mother?" She had to ask.

Greg's smile faltered—only faintly, but Aubrey noticed. She hoped that he didn't like her as well, with the way she talked about her own son. It would make things considerably easier for her. "Working," he answered simply. "She always is during the weekdays." When he didn't look to add more, Aubrey nodded her head.

"Understood." After racking her brain for appropriate conversation, she said, "I'm actually gonna stay in town for a while. Do you think I could come here again?—Just to talk with Aiden, of course," she added quickly. "Like I said, he seems like a smart kid. I had quite some fun talking with him."

"I'll have to talk to his mom about it, but I'm fine with it." He shrugged. Both of them had turned their gazes to the boy who was playing in the living room, tiny cars in his hands. "You seem nice too. It'd do him some good to have someone to talk to other than his folks. In fact…" He hesitated for a moment before turning to Aubrey. "Would you like to come in? I could make some tea and we could—"

Aubrey's hands flew up instantly, palms up and she shook them in front of the father. "Oh, no! I couldn't," she said, shaking her head sheepishly. "It's not that I don't want to, it's just…" She had taken quick note of the setting sun before, and was then thankful that she had. "It's actually getting dark, and I still have to finish up with my patrol, so…" Aubrey finished lamely with a small smile.

"Oh, yeah, of course!" Greg said, shaking his head slightly. "Thanks again, anyway."

"No problem at all." Aubrey turned around and walked down the steps. After a few moments, there came the sound of a door closing, and it echoed all the way down the street, following Aubrey until she turned a corner. There, it stopped.

* * *

**When she got back to Bobby's, she found the house empty. Sam and Bobby weren't in the living room, or in the kitchen, or in the junkyard outside. Worry clawing at her heart, Aubrey thought of only one place else to look.**

** It didn't come as a surprise when she found both of them in the basement; the surprise came, however, when she found Bobby tied to a chair, a symbol drawn in chalk beneath him, with Sam staring at the old man's neck while holding a knife over his head.**

** Aubrey ran up from behind Sam and, letting her hunter's instincts take over, grabbed his wrist. Just as his head swiveled around to look at her, she kicked his feet out from underneath him, watching him as he fell to the floor in a dazed heap. He looked up at her with wide eyes, holding his hands up in a pleading gesture.**

** "Hi, Sam," she said, effectively cutting him off from anything he was about to say. "I'm back." Then she hit his head with the butt of the knife he had been previously holding, knocking him out cold.**

** As soon as she was sure he wasn't going to get up any time soon, Aubrey turned around and faced Bobby, meeting his gaze almost immediately. They shared sad, knowing looks before Aubrey set to freeing him of his bonds.**

** She was just lucky that she'd arrived earlier than Dean. And it was then that she **_**knew**_** that Sam needed his soul; there was no other choice. And if a wall was all Death could do, then she'd take it.**

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**gawd, there hasn't been even ONE review yet. care to change that? :)**


	20. Chapter 20

**I DO NOT OWN SUPERNATURAL OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS; ONLY MY OC - AUBREY MILLIGAN - AND A QUARTER OF A QUARTER OF THIS PLOTLINE. (yes you read that right.)**

* * *

It was late in the afternoon, and Dean was leaning on the same table she was, his fingers tapping against his arm as they waited for Castiel to reappear from behind the door of the panic room, hopefully with the news that Sam's soul was inside him again.

It had been a week since Aubrey had walked in on Sam holding a knife on Bobby; a week since they'd seen Death push Sam's glowing soul back inside him; a week since Aubrey had found out about Aiden. It hadn't been a very good week—for any of the three family members Sam had in one roof—but calling on their guardian angel lifted some of the anxiety off of Aubrey's shoulders. It didn't surprise her that that happened; it confused her, though. Her relationship with the angel always confused her.

There came the time when Dean's tapping grew unbearably irritating. Aubrey was just about to call him out on it when she heard the bolts behind the iron-forged door of the panic room sound, right before the door itself opened, revealing a grim-faced Castiel.

He was pulling his shirtsleeve down from when he had surely pulled it up so he could push his hand into Sam's body, just so he could see into his soul (literally). Dean straightened up and unfolded his arms, faster than Aubrey did. "Well?" he said.

The angel showed no signs of acknowledging them, as he had walked past them with a rather distracted look, but he answered nevertheless. "His soul is in place."

"Is he ever gonna wake up?" Dean asked, glancing worriedly into the panic room, where Sam laid unconscious on the metal table in the middle.

Aubrey saw Castiel release a heavy sigh. His shoulders sagged as he said, "I'm not a human doctor, Dean."

At that, Dean threw his hands in the air exasperatedly, rolling his eyes. He was about to say something too, but one dirty look from Aubrey effectively shut him up. She then turned her gaze back to Castiel, frowning slightly. "Could you take a guess, Cas?" she said softly, not meaning to stress the angel any more than need be.

It didn't seem to work, though, for when he turned around, his jaw was taut. "Okay," he said, his voice hard and steely. "Probably not."

"Oh, well, don't sugarcoat it," Dean cut in, scowling. Aubrey sighed and took a step back even though she really should have stopped the two from fighting again.

Castiel's cold gaze settled on Dean once more. "I'm sorry, Dean," he said. "But I warned you not to put that thing back inside him."

"What was I supposed to do?" Dean demanded. "Let T-1000 walk around, hope he doesn't open fire?!"

_Ever the comedian,_ Aubrey thought, rolling her eyes slightly before letting them settle on the man lying in the panic room. His eyes were closed, but his chest rose and fell, and that was hope enough for Aubrey that he would wake up. The only question was: would the wall hold? Or, better yet, would it _work_?

"Let me tell you what his soul felt like when I touched it: like it had been _skinned alive_, Dean."

Aubrey raised her head at that, her heart dropping into her stomach. Castiel stood only mere inches away from Dean, now, glaring him down, his eyes wide with anger. She then understood why he had been so reluctant in giving Sam his soul back.

Purgatory had burned Aubrey, and Lucifer's Cage had pared Sam, both while they were still breathing.

"If you wanted to kill your brother, you should have done it outright," the angel finished, his voice dropping an octave—if that was even possible. It only highlighted the seriousness of the moment. It was then that Aubrey realized just what kind of pain Sam would feel if the wall broke… or what kind of pain _she_ would feel if _her_ wall broke.

She then grew afraid, increasingly so as the angel's words hung in the air until the point that she had to think of something else.

"Cas," she started, frowning when her voice broke. Nevertheless, the angel turned his gaze to her. But as a result of what she must have sounded like, Dean turned as well. She supposed it would be better if he knew too, anyway.

"I, uh…" Aubrey trailed off, having difficulty on how to break it to them gently. Did she even have to? _Of course you do, stupid. Sam's in a coma with his brain soaked in gasoline, and Death's holding the lighter._

After a while, Dean said, "Aubrey, what is it?"

She looked up, meeting both of their (confused) gazes with her own. She took a deep breath, racked her brain for the right words, and exhaled deeply as she said, "I found another Phoenix the other day."

As expected, her statement was met with silence; stunned silence. Indefinitely, she'd hoped that Castiel would be the one to break it, but after a minute (she counted) Aubrey knew that that wasn't going to happen.

"Dean, while you were so busy being Death a few days ago, I took a day off at the park. And then—" she started, but was interrupted by the first recipient of her statement.

"You met him _at the park_?!" Dean said loudly, probably loud enough that Bobby had heard from upstairs.

_Oh, _now_ you make noise._ Aubrey's head snapped to the staircase, expecting him to come down. When he didn't she waited a moment more before turning her glare to Dean again. "You mind keeping it down?" she hissed.

The older brother, as pretentious as ever, threw his hands in the air in exaggeration. "Why the hell are you just telling us this _now_?!"

Aubrey rolled her eyes. "I couldn't exactly tell you before, what with Sam being in a comatose."

"Sam's _still_ in a comatose."

"But Cas has made sure that there's a possibility he'll wake up."

She threw the angel a pointed look, one he promptly ignored. With his eyebrows knitted together, he asked, "Is he old?"

Aubrey swallowed. "He can't be more than 10."

"What's his name?" Dean cut in.

"Aiden," she answered immediately, the surname only dawning on her but she was sure that it was correct. "His dad's name is Greg Bishop. I haven't met his mom yet but she sounds like a bi—" She stopped, frowning slightly when the sound of fluttering wings met her ears. Cas wasn't in the room with them anymore.

"You've met his dad?" Dean said, not seeming to mind that the angel had just disappeared (even though Aubrey was, because she had a guess that he'd sought the boy out). After a moment, Dean added, "No, wait, he _has_ parents?"

Did he think that just because the archangel Gabriel had killed _hers_ that he'd make it a point to kill Aiden's too? Aubrey glared at Dean. "What the hell do you think—?"

"Aubrey," a voice cut in after a particularly strong gust of wind. Aubrey stilled and turned around. Sure enough, over her shoulder was Castiel, having just returned from his visit to Aiden. "Are you absolutely sure that he's one of your kind?"

"A Phoenix?" Aubrey didn't say anything else for a moment, finding relief that Cas hadn't taken so long, else she would have suspected that he'd done something to Aiden. But with the amount of time it had taken him to come back, she only assumed that he had wanted to see the boy for himself.

She continued. "When I met him at the park, I had this sort of… flashback. We were in Purgatory, and…" She frowned when her consciousness started scratching at the wall again. It was weird, because it was as if she could feel it. Odd. "And he told me that he got hit by a car a few weeks back," she resumed, shaking her head. "And I know for a fact that he died because we actually _met_ in Purgatory. Now, he's up and kicking though, that's for sure."

Each of them went quiet after Aubrey ended her explanation rather dully. Inside the panic room, Sam stirred and groaned slightly, his eyebrows furrowing together. Aubrey froze, waiting for his eyes to fly open.

When they didn't, she released a heavy sigh and ran a hand through her hair distress, closing her eyes for a few moments before meeting Castiel's stern gaze again. "Well, hey, anyway," she started, pointing a blunt finger at Dean. "I'm not going to be hunting with you guys for a while."

The older brother frowned. "Why not?"

"I have a responsibility to this kid, Dean," Aubrey replied seriously. "He doesn't know what he is yet, and for all I know another car could hit him tomorrow, or next week, or the week after that." She doubted herself but it was possible, what with the amount of luck Phoenixes had. "If he dies and resurrects _again_, people won't be leaving that alone."

"You're going to watch over him," Dean stated, but slanted the last word upward so it sounded like he was asking a question.

Unsure, Aubrey said, "Yes."

"That would be wise," Castiel suddenly said, making both pairs of eyes turn to him. He was undaunted. "This boy needs protection and guidance. What would be better is if you befriended him, Aubrey," he told her, "Let him and his family know that they can trust you. Then we can worry about what to do with him."

Although she didn't appreciate the way he phrased it—"what to do with him"—Aubrey nodded her head. "I'll stay here with Bobby while you two work that possible job up in Oregon."

"Oregon?" Dean repeated, confused.

"Bobby found a case there," she explained quickly. "I just thought it'd be best that you get distracted, at least, for a little while…" She trailed off, watching his face carefully for any sign of hurt or betrayal. Thankfully, there was none. He shuffled on his feet, and Aubrey nodded at the staircase over her shoulder. "You should go up there, grab some drinks. Bobby can fill you in on the details."

_While I talk with Cas,_ she almost added, but bit her tongue just in time before the first word spilled out. Her eyes flit to the angel standing a little ways off to the side for a fraction of a moment before settling on the older Winchester once more.

Dean looked uncertain for a moment, but then he looked over his shoulder to where Sam was lying, and his face cleared. "Yeah." He nodded gruffly. "Yeah, I'll go do that." Then he walked past Aubrey and Castiel in four long strides, disappearing up the stairs in less than ten seconds.

Aubrey exhaled slowly, turning around. The angel faced her with equal intensity, and they stared at each other for a long moment before he said, "It's very fortunate that you found the boy."

For some reason, Aubrey didn't want to know _why_ it was 'fortunate'. She let the statement pass, knowing that he hadn't meant for it to sound that way, and instead voiced out what had been bugging her for quite a while since she'd told them about Aiden. "If ever something were to happen to Aiden, and if I ever call on you for help…" she started hesitantly, looking up at Castiel through her eyelashes. "Will you come?"

She blinked, then, because at that moment something flashed across the angel's face, too fast for her to have seen, but with how his gaze softened and his fists loosen up beside him, Aubrey could have taken one or two wild guesses.

On his face, he held an astonishing amount of momentousness and solemnity when he said, "Of course."

* * *

Aubrey was outside helping Bobby repair a beaten down pick-up truck (a small part of her hoping he'd give it to her when they were done, because it still looked pretty good, and what without Dean's Impala to drive her to Aiden's house for her visits, she'd need something to get her through the neighborhood faster than her feet) when Dean came walking out of the house, holding two bottles of beer in one hand and one more in the other.

"Hey," he said, holding them up so she and Bobby could see. Bobby acknowledged him with a soft grunt, not taking his hand out of the car's interiors. Aubrey waved with her free hand, for her right was currently holding a bulb so that Bobby could see. Dean raised an eyebrow but otherwise took a seat on one of the standing picnic tables.

Aubrey nodded to the inside of the house. "How is he?" Sam had only woken up a few hours before,

"He's, uh…" Dean set the bottles down. "He's good, really good. Better than I could have hoped.

Just as he was opening one, Bobby turned his head and made a rough humming noise from the back of his throat, with a pointed look at Dean. Aubrey smirked, watching as the older brother scowled slightly but attempted to hide it by taking a swig from his beer. "What? Why the poopface?" he asked anyway.

She only had to wait a moment before Bobby motioned to Aubrey to move over, and she did. Once he had stepped down from the portable rungs he had been standing on, she pulled out the bulb's hook and hung it on one of the bits that stuck out from the car. She dusted her hands off, turning her head to find Bobby standing in front of Dean with his bottle in his hands.

"I'm glad he's better," he said. "I really am. But…" He stopped to think for a second. "That kid went straight-up menendez on me not ten days ago. And now it's all just _erased_?" Aubrey watched him make an exasperated motion by swinging his arms beside him, and sighed. "Sorry, I'm having a hard time even looking at him."

Dean shook his head and insisted, "It wasn't Sam."

"Well, maybe it wasn't _all_ Sam," Bobby retorted. "But it was him, Dean."

"What do you want to do, Bobby? Do you want to tell him everything?"

"No… Just wish I could, that's all."

"Yeah, but if we start throwing that crap at him, we don't know what's gonna happen. It could—it could crack the wall!"

"I know, I know."

Meanwhile, Aubrey had made her way to the picnic table and snatched her bottle off the top. She picked up the bottle opener next, exhaling loudly in an attempt to grab the Winchester's attention.

It worked.

He grunted at her, taking a swig. "What about you, Aub?"—she'd finally allowed letting him use that nickname on her, since he'd seemed to have made it a habit, but it didn't make her hate it any less—"What do you think about all of this?"

"I don't think it's a good idea…" she said, frowning down at the bottle in her hands while fiddling with the cap she'd just pulled off. "But I do think that it's necessary."_And what if he's scratching at that wall and he doesn't even know it? I do it too, after all. Purgatory was terrible, but Sam's was probably worse. For all we know, one day we could wake up and he's gone completely bonkers…_

"He'll find out," Bobby told her, snapping her out of her thoughts. "One way or another, someone will tell him or he'll figure it out on his own. He's not dumb. He should hear it from us."

"I agree," Aubrey nodded her head to Dean, "Which is why I'm asking you to be careful with him while you're in Oregon. Once you get back, then we'll tell him." He rolled his eyes, and she grimaced. "I mean it, Dean. _Watch him_."

He grunted, taking another swig of his beer. "Yeah, yeah."

* * *

** At the crack of dawn, Aubrey woke up from a very, **_**very**_** short nap and went outside into rather tense atmosphere.**

** The three men—Sam, Bobby, and Dean—were standing by the Impala in a circle, two of the latter seeming to be giving each other dirty looks. Aubrey couldn't see Sam's face, but she was positive that he looked just as confused about it as she was—although, her maybe less so.**

** "—yeah, yeah," Bobby was saying. "You two enjoy catching up, okay?" Then he slipped past Sam and Dean, taking long strides as he walked past. When he passed by Aubrey, his eyes flit to her for a second, knowing, while the corner of his lip turned up in a half-sneer. She returned it subtly before striding to where Sam and Dean stood.**

** They greeted her with knowing smiles—Sam hugging her for extra measure because apparently he had missed her so much even though he didn't know what occurred with his body while his soul was in Hell—and Aubrey nodded at the Impala, saying, "You all set?"**

** Dean nodded. "We'll be back in a week."**

** Aubrey laughed lightly. "Don't hurry on my account."**

** She followed them closer to the car. Sam hugged her again before he went in, then she went to Dean's side, where he was looking at her seriously.**

** He said, "Don't scratch at that wall too much, yeah?"**

** Aubrey raised an eyebrow, not sure if he was speaking theoretically, or if he knew more about what was going on in her head than he let on. Nevertheless, she nodded. "Tell Sam that."**

** He got into the car, and Aubrey backed away three steps; but otherwise staying where she was as the engine started, and as they drove off. When her worries and concerns about their trip and Sam finally subsided, only one thought remained:**

_** Aiden.**_

* * *

**reviews? :( :)**


	21. Chapter 21

**is anyone here interested in The Hobbit? ^^**

**I DO NOT OWN SUPERNATURAL OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS; JUST MY OC - AUBREY MILLIGAN - AND A QUARTER OF A QUARTER OF THIS PLOT.**

* * *

It was Friday, and Aubrey just thought it was lucky that Sam and Dean hadn't left a day later; else she would have been unfortunate enough to have to visit Aiden on a weekend. She didn't think she was ready to meet the mother just yet. She was afraid she might pull a gun on her or something, and Aubrey was positive that neither Greg nor Aiden would take too kindly to that.

Like the angel Castiel had told her, she had to make them trust her. She couldn't exactly do that if she was holding a gun to the mother's chest.

At about 3 in the afternoon, Aubrey decided it was getting boring sitting around in the house all day playing poker with Bobby. She had to see Aiden. It had only been less than two weeks, and she was already getting restless. Without the boys troubling her with their constant bickering, nothing held her attention more than the Bishops.

Aubrey told Bobby that she was leaving, that she had to, and he grunted as a reply. He said, "Just make sure you're not scratching at his wall too, okay, kiddo?"

"Wouldn't dream of it."

So she borrowed one of his cars—one of the better ones, because she didn't exactly want the Bishops to think that she was a homeless hillbilly—and headed into town, a small knife hidden beneath the hem of her jeans, just in case. It was hot out, but she wore a long-sleeved plaid shirt anyway because she was yet to gain back some fat.

First, she drove to the park where she'd met Aiden. Aubrey stayed there for a while, ten minutes at most, just pondering on whether it was fate, God, or pure coincidence that she saw him being bullied on the grass not a mile away from where she sat on Bobby's pick-up truck.

When she did drive off from there, she struggled to recall the rights and lefts Aiden had taken when she had "walked" him home. Needless to say, that day, Aubrey hadn't exactly paid attention to the street signs.

It took another half hour before she finally found a familiar name written on one of the street signs. "Freedom Street" it read, and Aubrey smiled at the sound of it. It was definitely the right street. The houses piled on either side of it were painted white, beige, blue, green, or yellow. _What a good-looking neighbourhood,_ Aubrey thought to herself. _But like everything else, tenants have their stories._

In the middle of that street, found wedged in-between two dull green houses, was a beige one. Like any of the other houses, it had a neatly-trimmed lawn in front and a grey roof. By the door and the garage door were two trashcans. Farthest down, just before the driveway met the sidewalk, was a red mailbox. Aubrey walked up to it and read the word "Bishops" which was painted white on it, and she was finally certain.

The street was silent, which wasn't to be expected considering it was in the middle of the day and children were supposed to be running up and down the sidewalks with water guns in their hands, or teenagers with basketballs. Instead, birds chirped and flew in and out of sight. Aside from that, there was no noise.

Above her, the sky was clear. Aubrey gazed at it for a moment longer, but she was already standing on the porch with her hands pulled into knuckles beside her. Taking a deep breath, she nodded once to herself, brought her hand up, and rang the doorbell.

Her knuckles turned white, her nails dug into her palms, as she waited for someone to answer the door. Why was she so nervous? As far as she knew, Aiden hadn't exactly hated her. Aubrey actually wanted to think that he liked her. It would make it easier for her to gain his trust.

Those thoughts were stopped in their tracks when the door flew open, creaking slightly as it revealed Greg Bishop, a surprised look on his face and several toy cars in his hands. Aubrey smiled slightly when he dropped one of them and had to bend down to pick it up. When he'd finally straightened up again, both of them had regained their composure.

"I thought you'd forgotten," he said.

Aubrey raised an eyebrow. "What made you think that?"

"It's been a week."

"More than a week, actually." She rubbed her neck, her eagerness getting the best of her as she subtly looked past him and into the house. "Is Aiden home?"

Greg raised his hands, giving her a better view of the cars between his fingers. There were seven in total. "What do you think?" He sighed, before stepping to the side, granting her entrance. "Come in," he said.

And she did—almost immediately but she restrained herself just enough to thank him. It was the first time she'd ever been inside the house, and she'd expected a lot less. Once she stepped through the door, there was a short hallway that branched off in three different directions. To the right and left, she only assumed they were the bedrooms (for there wasn't a second floor to their house), and to the middle was the living room; there was a large doorway where Aubrey could peek, and inside she saw Aiden flit into view, a toy airplane in his hands, before he ran out of sight again.

Aubrey smiled. She was still in the main hallway, and she turned her head to find the kitchen looming to her right. It was rather small, with a table fit for four or five people, a counter, and a fridge. She then looked to her left and found that it was the only room with a door closed. There was a sign on it too; it read: "For Aiden only" with what seemed to be a red crayon. The writing was messy and scribbled too. A child had written it.

She frowned, her hand unconsciously reaching for the doorknob when she heard something rattle to the floor beside her. Then she whirled around, barely keeping from pulling the knife out from her jeans when she saw that it was just Aiden.

He had dropped his airplane and was standing in the hallway with his hands at his sides and wide eyes. Aubrey forced out a smile. "Hey, Aiden," she said in a sing-songy voice.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, practically muttering.

"I came to visit you," she replied, doing that cheery-plastic-faced-neighbor act that she'd seen so many times with different people all over the country. (Yes, she'd met a _lot_ of people. It was one of the things that came with being a hunter, really.) Of course, she wasn't lying. She worried about him more than was probably necessary.

Aiden frowned. He bent down to pick up his airplane, scooping it up into his arms before straightening up. "We're not friends," he said.

Aubrey almost laughed. She wasn't supposed to, obviously. The statement might have been offensive and hurtful to most people, and yes, she might have felt a slight ache in her chest hearing that, but she'd heard it from a boy not even half her age. (Not even half her height as well.) He looked so serious about it too, with his eyebrows furrowed together and a pout on his mouth.

It wasn't supposed to be funny. Aubrey knew that, but she grinned nevertheless.

Unfortunately, Greg didn't see this and immediately came to her (unheeded) rescue. "Aiden," he said to his son sternly. "Be nice."

Aiden's gaze turned to the man behind Aubrey, before turning sheepish. He ducked his head and murmured, "Sorry."

Despite the fact that he was probably even more serious than before, Aubrey couldn't help but chuckle that time. "Sorry," she said, biting her cheek. "It's fine. It's fine." She waved the apology away. "How are you?" she continued, still smirking.

That didn't seem to be the right thing to do.

Aiden's sheepishness turned to confusion, and Aubrey watched as that confusion turned to frustration. His pout turned into a scowl, and he crossed his arms, stomped his foot, and said, "Are you making fun of me?"

"No," Aubrey replied seriously, trying to keep her shoulders from shaking. She was still laughing inside.

Sometimes, her lack of professionalism got her into some deep shit.

Aiden seemed to buy it, though. His expression softened the slightest bit, and he dropped his arms. "Good…" he muttered, answering her previous question. His gaze flitted constantly from the floor to Aubrey, until finally he just gave up. He turned around and ran back to the living room. A few moments later (Aubrey counted), he reappeared running over the sofa with his plane raised high over his head, making whirring noises with his mouth.

For a while, Aubrey was content with just watching him play from the hallway, but eventually Greg—out of his apparent politeness—invited her to the kitchen for a drink. She supposed that by "a drink" he meant coffee or tea. She was thankful. She needed the caffeine, though some part of her craved for something stronger than coffee.

It seemed that there were only one or two closed doors in the house. Every other room had none, and Aubrey suspected that maybe it was for the parents to be able to see their child wherever he may be. At the right side of the kitchen was a large doorway that led directly to the living room. It was one of the simpler kitchens; a counter topped with jars and bottles, a plain white fridge, yellow-painted walls, and a small table in the middle with four chairs.

Aubrey pulled one of these out and angled it towards the living room before plopping down. She was vigilant not to slouch too low so she wouldn't impale herself; for the knife was still in the hemline of her jeans—sheathed, but she wanted to be careful.

She hadn't even touched down on her chair before Greg made his way to the counter. From the corner of her eye, Aubrey saw him put water in a kettle, place that kettle onto the stove, and take out two mugs. "Coffee or tea?" he asked.

"Coffee, please," Aubrey answered easily; though her full attention was currently on Aiden.

"Rough day so far, huh?" Greg chuckled.

She heard him turn on the stove. "Rough _week_." Not wanting to say anymore, she ran a hand over her face and rubbed her neck roughly. Thankfully, Greg got the message. They fell into a comfortable silence; one that Aubrey was forced to break because she didn't want to leave so soon.

"So, how has he been?" she said, not taking her eyes off the boy.

Greg looked up and said, "Same old same old." He wiped his hands on a towel by the sink before walking to where Aubrey sat. He pulled up a chair for himself and sat, only a little ways behind Aubrey; though she would have appreciated it more if she could see him without having to crane her neck. But she supposed that it wouldn't exactly be polite to call him out on it. She let it be.

"Have the kids been bullying him again?"

It was an honest question on her part. She assumed that at least one of Aiden's parents would have known that their son was being bullied outside the house.

She'd assumed wrong.

"What?" came Greg's answer. Aubrey cursed inwardly at herself—_What the _hell_, Aubrey?!_—before whipping her head around whilst biting the inside of her cheek. As soon as she saw the dark look on the man's face, she found out exactly how wrong her assumption was.

"You didn't know?" she said, furrowing her eyebrows.

Greg was silent for a few moments. His face held many expressions, foremost being anger. "I knew there was something," he ground out.

"That's how I met him," Aubrey explained further. "A bunch of kids were teasing him when I found him at the park. I shooed them off, of course, but…"

"Did you ask for their names?"

"No." Aubrey frowned. "I'm sorry, I should have—"

"It's fine," Greg interrupted her. He'd collapsed back onto his chair by then, his face in his hands. His shoulders deflated as a deep sigh escaped his mouth. "Dammit…"

"Aiden didn't tell you?" Aubrey asked, frowning deeper when he laughed humourlessly.

"Aiden doesn't tell me anything."

She turned her head to look at the boy playing in the living room. He'd then switched back to playing with his cars, bumping them into each other before gliding them across the upholstery, and then repeating the process. Aubrey smiled slightly, remembering when Sam and Dean used to do that as well while she sat in the sidelines watching them.

The kettle started whistling, and Greg stood up. "I'm the worst parent ever," she heard him mumble as he made his way to the stove. He twisted a knob, and the whistling stopped. As he poured the steaming hot water into the two separate mugs, Aubrey found herself thoughtlessly fiddling with her bracelet as she continued to watch Aiden from afar.

Her thoughts drifted back to a memory from her time in Purgatory.

She really didn't know how "the wall"—both hers and Sam's—worked. For her, she could remember tiny things on what happened, and some of the pain. Sam remembered none. Aubrey could remember nothing else of the words that were said in Purgatory (as she was sure Sam wasn't capable of as well), but there was one voice that she could still hear in her head, as clear as day:

_** "By the will of God, you will walk the Earth once more, not to suffer all these things twicefold, but that you may rebuild the species that has been lost. This is thine Father's will, and so it shall be done."**_

What was that supposed to mean?_**"Not to suffer all these things twicefold"**_—she thanked God for that. (It was his will anyway.)—_**"But that you may rebuild the species that has been lost."**_Phoenixes? Aubrey assumed that it was God the Son—Jesus—speaking, because he referred to God the Father as "Father".

Aubrey paused in her pondering, and frowned. _What the fuck, Aubrey?_

So, did _Jesus_ mean Phoenixes?

If that was the case, she really couldn't see how she was supposed to _rebuild_ the species. Children? Baby Phoenixes? _Who the hell is supposed to be the father? Aiden?!_ Aubrey shuddered at the thought. He was a child! He hadn't even reached adolescence yet. Did Jesus really expect her to…?

_Jesus, that's gross._ Aubrey glanced up through her lashes and glared, the image of angels peering down at her with smug faces. At the thought of angels, her mind wandered—as it always did—to Castiel.

She hadn't seen him in days, which was a time considerably less than what she was used to. But she couldn't help but wonder what was happening upstairs. Was he fighting? Or was it the calm before the storm, and was he looking down at her right now? Or was he watching over Sam and Dean instead?

Greg held out a steaming hot mug of coffee in front of Aubrey's face, snapping her out of her reverie. She accepted it gratefully. It was already warm inside the house, and the mug in her hands was too hot even to her liking. Of course, she didn't get burned. Her palms remained the way they were.

But the growing heat reminded her too much of what she had to endure not a month ago, and she ended up placing the mug on the table behind her. She'd pick it up again when it was cool enough.

Meanwhile, Greg had sat back down behind her. She turned her head and read his face for a short while, frowning at his obvious frustration. "Are you mad at him?" she asked.

"I can never be mad at him," he replied. "It's just…" He sighed, rubbing his face distressfully. "I wish he'd talk to me more. He's been quiet for so long, just playing with his toys as soon as he gets home that I've gotten the impression that _he's_ the one who's mad at _me_."

"He's not mad at you," Aubrey quickly put in. To that, Greg raised his head and nodded at her direction, a glimmer of thankfulness in his eye. Aubrey nodded back before turning her attention back to the boy in the living room. "Is it true then?"

"Is what true?"

"He told me that he got hit by a car a few weeks ago, and that he's supposed to be dead." Aubrey frowned at her own words, but continued nevertheless. "Is all that true?"

There was a second of silence, which became several seconds, which became a moment, which became a minute. By then, Aubrey had already been tempted twice to look behind her at the middle-aged man, but before she could, he spoke. Finally. But Aubrey had to admit, his words made her stomach drop.

"Yes," he said. "They're true."

"How do you know?" Aubrey asked, taking the initiative to turn her chair around so that she could face him without having to crane her neck. "Were you there?"

Greg nodded. "A few days before the funeral, Aiden woke up in the morgue screaming his lungs out. The coroner told us that the wounds and broken bones that he'd gotten from the accident were all gone." Then his face turned even grimmer, and a deep crease appeared on his brow. "Aiden had taken a fall from his bike when he was 3 years old. He got this scar on his right knee as remembrance. It's not there anymore."

Aubrey did her best to act surprised, but she really wasn't. The flames of Purgatory healed Phoenixes of every wound, every scar, and every injury they'd ever gotten— as well as cleaned their soul. But just to act the part, she put on a deep frown and said, "But how?"

"No one can explain it." He shook his head. "We live in a small town. Word spreads quickly around here. In the span of three days, almost everyone knew. I didn't know that people had been teasing my son until now."

For a while, Aubrey was silent. She let his words sink in, pondering them deeply. It wasn't a small town. Not at all. Didn't Greg know that, or was he just trying to convince himself that his son wasn't as big a freak as everyone thought he was?

Carefully observing the man who was staring down at his hands, she asked, "And what do you think?"

At that, Greg raised his head. His face was a mixture of emotions: anger, confusion, and profound sadness. "I think that my son is supposed to be dead." His voice was blank and monotone and it made Aubrey worry. But what he said next wiped all anxiety clean from her mind. "I also think that God gave him back to me for a reason. And I don't know what that reason is, but I intend to find out."

They wiped her anxiety clean out, _and_ surprised her. She stared at him for a long moment, narrowing her eyes and trying to find the slightest hint of a lie on his face, but there was none. Afterwards, she snatched her mug of coffee off the table top and took a large gulp (even though it was still hot).

Already feeling the caffeine course through her veins, she smiled widely at him and said, "Good." It was then and only then that she noticed a cross dangling from his neck. It glistened in the light of the kitchen bulb. Aubrey stared at it with newfound veneration—not for the religion itself, but for the devotee.

* * *

**reviews please? :( :)**


	22. Chapter 22

**I DO NOT OWN SUPERNATURAL OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS; ONLY MY OC - AUBREY MILLIGAN - AND A QUARTER OF A QUARTER OF THIS STORYLINE.**

* * *

Aubrey let the weekend pass; coming to the conclusion that she absolutely _had_ to visit Aiden again once Monday came. Was she being clingy? Was she being overly obsessed? _"Who the hell can blame me?"_ she then asked herself. Over the course of a month, she'd been captured by the King of Hell, tortured for information, _killed_ for even _more_ information, journeyed into Purgatory where she then experienced pain like no other, came back to life, and found out that she wasn't the only one of her kind anymore.

So really, it was the world that had to adapt to her.

During the weekend, Aubrey distracted herself with every possible thing. The first morning, she went to a local gym and burned some calories (even though she already did on practically a daily basis). Afterwards, she toured across town; going into pubs, having a few bites here and there, and chatting up cute men before leaving them high and dry without her number.

Sunday she went into the same routine, though retired earlier to have dinner with Bobby at the home. Suffice it to say, he was amused with her attempts at normalcy.

"What?" Aubrey said in her own defense. "It's the first time in—give or take—twenty years that I haven't gone on a job for so long. Can you really blame me?"

Bobby rolled his eyes. "You could'a helped me with the phones. Hunters call me nonstop asking for this and that. I could have used your expertise."

"Sorry."

As expected, for dinner, they had takeout from a Chinese restaurant just a few blocks away. Bobby sat in his desk flipping through probably fifty pages in one minute, while Aubrey sat in the living room watching TV.

She sifted through the channels (as there was really nothing decent to watch), Indian-seated on Bobby's velvet cushion with her box of noodles placed on her lap. All was silent except for the occasional click of the TV remote, or the sound of rustling paper, because Aubrey had made it a point to put the television on mute so that it wouldn't bother Bobby.

When she'd finally settled for a channel (some show about a doctor with superpowers of a sort), she picked her chopsticks off the table and took a slurp of her noodles, all while completely ignoring the television that had been begging for her attention from the beginning.

Her mind was elsewhere.

Minutes passed with both people in the house eating in solitude, both having very different issues and dilemmas on their minds, but it was a silence that Aubrey broke.

"Hey, Bobby?" she called.

"Yeah?"

"Can I borrow your phone?"

There was a pause. "What for?"

"I wanna call Sam and Dean, just to see if they haven't screwed up the job yet."

"Why don't you use yours?"

"It's upstairs and I'm too lazy to get up."

Aubrey grinned widely when there was no immediate reply, and she discerned that Bobby was irritated with her response. It was the wrong one, apparently, but it was true. She didn't want to get off the couch. "I swear to God," she hurriedly added (with purpose). "Your couch is eating me alive over here."

"You better be dead when I come over there then," came the hillbilly-accented retort. A few seconds after, Aubrey heard footsteps. She straightened up slightly on the sofa just as Bobby stepped into the living room, his black mobile phone in his hands.

He looked at her with a blank expression—"You ain't dead."—One that he failed to keep up. A smirk made its way onto his features, one that Aubrey returned. Bobby threw the phone to her and she snatched it out of the air with ease. "When you're done," he started, "tell me all about it."

"You got it."

Bobby walked back out, leaving Aubrey alone again in the living room. Without a second thought, she dialed Dean's number and held the phone to her ear. It started ringing, and while it did, she clicked the TV off. Dropping the remote to her side, she took another bite of her dinner.

Dean answered on the fifth ring.

**"Hey, Bobby. What's up?"**

"Dean!" Aubrey said through a mouthful of Chinese noodles. She swallowed and then took a large gulp of beer for good measure before putting the phone back to her ear. "Hey, it's Aubrey."

**"Aubrey?"**

"No, friggin' Meg from Family Guy," she quipped, feeling quite mischievous and hyper, which she wasn't before. It must have been excitement. She couldn't wait to hear news about the case. It had been too long since she'd been in a job, but Aiden's safety was far more important at the moment.

**"Ha ha,"** Dean replied lamely. **"Seriously though, where's Bobby?"**

"In his office studying up." Aubrey unfurled her legs from beneath her and stretched them out in front of her. She rested the heels of her feet on the wooden table in front of her. "Why? Am I so boring to talk to?"

**"We need a second opinion."**

"Alright…" Aubrey scrunched up her face. "What about?"

**"Dragons."**

"_Dragons_?"

**"Yeah, what do you know about dragons?"**

At any other given time, she could have laughed at the absurdness of the question; but it had been a strange year, and there was a slight possibility, and Dean's voice was dead serious.

Sadly, she'd never gotten a case on dragons before. "Nothing."

**"Seriously."**

"I _am_ serious, Dean," she replied sternly. "Dragons aren't real." No reply came. Instead, she received frustrated, muffled sounds from the other end that went on for almost a minute. Until which time, she'd pushed herself off the cushion of Bobby's couch and made her way to his study, where she found him sitting casually in his desk with his legs kicked up.

He raised his head as soon as she stepped through the door, raising a questioning eyebrow and nodding at the phone on her ear. She cupped her hand over the headset's microphone and told him, "It's Dean. He's asking about dragons." Once she saw the exasperated look on his face, she chuckled. "I know right."

"Give," Bobby said. The muffled voices on the other end of the line still hadn't stopped, so Aubrey didn't hesitate to hand the phone over to her uncle-figure. "Dean?" he started. With her heightened sense of hearing (though not that much), Aubrey heard a faint reply come from the other end. "Seriously, Dean? _Dragons_?" There was a pause. "Well, they're not like the Loch Ness Monster, Dean! Dragons aren't real."

At that, Aubrey cut in, "Put 'em on speaker."

Bobby did, and then came Dean's immediate request: **"Could you make a few calls?"**

"To who? Hogwarts?"

Aubrey chuckled lightly at Bobby's retort, but otherwise kept quiet.

**"Humour me."**

"Fine."

**"You're a gentleman and a scholar."**

"Yeah, I am." Bobby rolled his eyes pointedly at Aubrey, causing her to smirk. But then he said, "Hey, how's Memento doing over there? He caught you in any lies yet?" She sobered up by that point.

When there was a short gap in the conversation, Aubrey narrowed her eyes. **"Everything's fine,"** Dean said. **"Sam says hey."**

Then the line went dead.

With a loud, frustrated sigh, Bobby clicked his phone off and put it back on its hook. Aubrey met his gaze evenly, and they shared a knowing look. At that moment, she knew that they were thinking the same thing:

_ Friggin' dragons, man._

They stayed up late that night scanning through books and searching on the internet _absolutely anything_ even _closely_ related to dragons. Everything always came up the same: mythical creature, mythical legend, lore… it wasn't real.

But then again, Aubrey was never good at doing Bobby's job.

It was about 8 in the evening when Bobby bolted upright in his chair, a dawning expression on his face and his hands flat on the table in front of them. He mumbled something beneath his breath, something along the lines of "Why didn't I think of her sooner?"

"What is it?" Aubrey asked, leaning forward in her chair.

"I met this gal once in San Francisco," Bobby stated, already dialing in a number on his phone. "She was a professor at a university there, complete nerd."

Aubrey raised an eyebrow. "And?"

"And she just might know something about what the boys are hunting."

With her elbows on the table, Aubrey propped her chin up on one of her knuckles just as she vaguely heard the ringing stop from the other end of the line.

**"Bobby, what do you got?"** The phone was still on speaker, and Dean's voice could be heard from across the table. Aubrey grew tense, wanting to hear what information Bobby had as well.

"Can't believe she didn't jump right to mind." Bobby shook his head and ran a hand over his beard, a hint of a smile on his face. "Dr. Visyak, Medieval Studies, S.F.U."

**"Dr. Visyak, S.F.U…."** Dean repeated quickly. **"Got it. Thanks."** There was a light scuffling over the phone, right before the line went dead.

Bobby turned the phone off, and he sighed the same time Aubrey did. Across the table, they shared knowing looks.

Dean was avoiding discussion of Sam as much as he could, but even he had to know that they wouldn't be able to keep up the ruse any longer. Sam was going to find out eventually. It was inevitable. Aubrey just wished that that wasn't the case, because _when_ he finds out that he'd been walking around the country completely soulless for more than a year, he won't be able to help himself. He'd scratch at that wall in his brain like there was no tomorrow. And if he even put a _dent_, the consequences could be fatal.

At the thought of walls and secrecy and souls, Aubrey's mind went back to pondering about her own situation—as it always did.

With an almost rehearsed sequencing of thoughts, Aubrey retreated into the living room once more, only looking back to say good night to Bobby. He returned it slowly, a look of concern on his face—one he quickly threw behind a mask, of course. He returned to his work on the books just as Aubrey was turning her head back around.

She crashed onto the couch, the Chinese food on the table long forgotten as she lost herself in her thoughts. And to those same thoughts that had lulled her into a world of her own many times before, Aubrey barely felt it when her eyelids drooped shut.

* * *

She sat with Aiden in the middle of the living room, both of them cross-legged on the blue polyester carpet. Hundreds of pieces of his building blocks were scattered in front of them. A dozen or so were laid beside Aiden as he built a tall, square castle—slowly but surely.

Aubrey fiddled with one of the longer pieces, examining it every which way. Her mind wandered to Sam and Dean's case, the one that was _supposedly_ about dragons. Bobby was yet to hear anything from them, and in her opinion, he should really give Dean a piece of his mind as soon as he called again.

Feeling considerably jaded, Aubrey let her eyes flick to Aiden's tiny form in front of her. Without thinking twice, she asked, "What do you think about dragons?"

The boy didn't look away from his project. He placed a single red block at the top of one of the towers—a roof. "Dragons?" he said.

"Yeah."

"They're cool," the boy slowly drawled out, examining his castle. "God didn't make them real though."

"True." _Lie… maybe._

With that, he picked up another piece, a yellow one, and placed it beside his castle; then he picked up another, and another, and another, piling them on top of each other so that the separate building was just as tall as his castle. The last elongated piece, he placed so that it connected the tower to the castle. Aubrey smiled, wondering if he had a name for the tower or if he was just making it up as he went.

She tilted her head and stared at the seemingly-finished project for a minute or so. Only when her eyes flickered upwards for a fraction of a second did she notice that Aiden was doing the same thing; with his thumb and forefinger on his chin, he stared intensely at his project, looking for the missing piece.

There was a missing piece; Aubrey looked at it again and found that it wasn't quite done yet. Her eyebrows furrowed in concentration, she sifted through the ocean of blocks and found the perfect one, one that was square-shaped and brick red and _perfect_.

She placed it on top of the separated tower, right beside the bridge, and it acted as a lookout room of sorts.

But what did Aubrey know about castles and dungeons? She barely knew anything about medieval times, except that punishments for criminals were much ghastlier, and that women wore dresses, and that there were knights in shining armor, and that kings and queens still weren't rare. People still used horses and carriages for transportation, and there was no electricity.

There were still dragons back then.

Or, at least, that was what the books say.

Aiden seemed pleased with his castle. He liked the extra piece Aubrey added as well. He turned his gaze to her and flashed his teeth, and Aubrey was barely able to return it because it was the first time he'd ever smiled so widely at her.

The boy coughed once, then twice, making Aubrey remember the fact that, when she had arrived, Aiden was yelling at the top of his voice in glee. She chuckled before standing up and brushing herself off. "Want some water?" she asked, to which he nodded vigorously.

Smiling, Aubrey walked into the kitchen and immediately made her way to the counter. She got a glass from the cupboard, and was just filling it up when she heard footsteps behind her. She didn't need to turn around to know that it was Greg.

"How 'bout you?" she said, glancing over her shoulder slightly. "What do you think about dragons?"

Greg wore a simple grey sweatshirt and jeans, looking as if he'd just come from a workout session. His hair was its usually tousled self. He scratched the side of his head as he said, "Dragons?" Aubrey nodded, and he shrugged. "Don't believe in 'em."

Aubrey rolled her eyes. "Obviously. No one does." And that wasn't a lie. "I meant what do you know about them?"

"Nothing much except for the basics; big, scaly, fire-breathing, really ugly, and extinct." He smirked and reached for a mug. "Did I miss anything?"

_They're not extinct… apparently,_ Aubrey thought, trying to hide her scowl as best she could. "Nah, nothing."

Greg raised an eyebrow. "Why are you suddenly curious about mythical creatures anyway, Jenna?"

Aubrey flashed a smile, though almost gagged at the sound of her forged name. "My brothers are very nosy."

"You have brothers?"

"Yeah. I haven't told you that?" To her fake surprise, Greg shook his head. "Well, I do. They're very annoying."

He laughed. "I'd like to meet them sometime."

"Fat chance." Taking the glass of water, Aubrey turned around and strolled out of the kitchen.

The sound of Greg's chuckles followed her out and into the living room, where she handed the glass to Aiden. He frowned as he took it from her. "What's so funny?" he said.

"Your dad just thinks it'd be cool to meet my brothers." At the excitement that spread across the boy's face, Aubrey raised a finger. "Let me tell you now: it would _not_ be cool."

"Do they like castles and cars too?" Aiden said, completely ignoring what Aubrey just previously stated. He looked utterly thrilled to meet Sam and Dean; in Aubrey's mind, however, Aiden and Greg meeting the Winchesters would just be a mess for her. And she didn't need any more messes.

But, it was only polite to reply. "One of them _owns_ one," she said, winking at Aiden.

His face lit up. "A castle?" he practically shouted.

"A car!" Aubrey laughed loudly.

The smile on Aiden's face disappeared for a second, before reappearing again, only lesser. "That's cool too, I guess," he said. And then he perked up, and with a loud exclamation, he picked himself up off the floor and rushed to the sofa, where his cars stood lined on the armrests. He picked one up and started running around the room, making engine noises with his lips.

"Can you bring them here someday?" he asked, the eagerness clear in his voice.

Aubrey was just about to say _No, they're too busy,_ but heard someone clear his throat behind her. She whipped her head back and found Greg leaning by the doorway, his arms crossed in front of him and an expectant look on his face. Aubrey glared at him, before settling into a decision.

"Fine," she said. Greg smirked impishly from where he stood, right before coming into the room and picking Aiden off his feet. Aiden's giggles filled the room as his father continued to run around the room, making whooshing noises and giving his boy the impression that he was flying.

Aubrey smiled, and tried to remember a time when her father and mother were still alive, when she was still small enough so that they could do that to her. A memory jumped into mind, and her smile widened.

* * *

**reviewssss ^^**


	23. Chapter 23

**oh my god I AM SO SORRY FOR SUCH A LATE UPDATE. My laptop's sort of gone to shit, but thankfully I was able to save my files in a flashdrive and now i'm using my brother's laptop. Now that I've gotten my head back in the writing game, i will try to update more responsibly. (But school is coming and I want to kill myself okaybyeloveyouhugsandkisses-)**

**I DO NOT OWN SUPERNATURAL OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS; ONLY MY OC-AUBREY MILLIGAN.**

* * *

Tuesday morning, Bobby got Aubrey to the phones immediately. There was nothing urgent, but she had a feeling that the reason he'd woken her up at the crack of dawn was because he knew she was going to go out again. "Oh no, you don't," he had said as soon as her eyelids fluttered open. "You're stayin' here and helpin' me with every crackhead that rings those phones whether you want to or not."

And no one in their right mind would question Bobby Singer.

So that's what they did for the whole day. It was then, too, that Aubrey found out Bobby's job wasn't so easy.

There were 10 phones all in all. Aubrey and Bobby divided the job so that each of them had to answer 5. With each phone, Aubrey had a different identity. Either she was an officer in Arizona, Wisconsin, Ohio, Philadelphia, or South Carolina.

Luckily, Bobby gave her the easy phones, meaning that with each phone, only one or two hunters would call, and she could use the same name for that one phone.

Bobby's case was _very_ different.

With each call, the first thing he did was to ask who was calling. If it was a hunter, he would ease up; if it was an officer of the law, he instantly went to full-senti mode, reciting a forged name and making it so that his voice sounded professional. There were numerous times where he threatened the person over the phone and pulled rank.

Aubrey thought it was just another reason why she admired him.

At one point, Aubrey picked up the phone to a guy called Rufus Turner.

**"Who's this?"** he said, suspicion clear in his voice.

"Jodie Black," Aubrey replied, scowling at the sound of her fake name. It didn't fit her at all, and she wondered where Bobby came up with them. _Black_ was not a very good surname. Most people would take offense to it and—

**"Who are you **_**really**_**?"**

She stopped tapping at the edge of the table, and it must have been very abrupt because Bobby's head snapped up. He held a phone to his ear and was talking into it, spilling instructions on how to kill Rukorokubi—or something like that. Meeting her gaze, however, he raised an eyebrow. Aubrey immediately mouthed the name _Rufus Turner_. Bobby nodded in understanding and waved his hand at her.

For a moment, she thought that he wanted her to hand the phone over, but after a few seconds of speculation found that he just wanted her to keep talking.

Pursing her lips, Aubrey brought the headset back to her ear and removed her hand from the mic. "Who's this again?" she asked in an irritable tone.

**"You first."**

"Aubrey Milligan."

**"Rufus Turner,"** he said. Then there was a light scuffling over the phone. **"Friend of Bobby's?"**

"Yep."

** "You don't happen to be related to Adam Milligan, do you?"**

Aubrey frowned deeply. "Who the hell is that?"

The man chuckled from the other end of the line. **"Never mind. Where's Bobby?"**

"He's right here," Aubrey answered simply. "Why?"

**"Well, no offense Miss Milligan, but I don't think you'd know anything about what I'm dealing with."**

Aubrey heard the slightest hint of sarcasm in his voice, and scoffed lightly. Rolling her eyes, she said, "Try me."

**"Alright…"** He paused. **"I'm in Montana right now looking at over eight dead people; nothing common about any of them except that they're all war veterans."**

"You're gonna have to get more specific than that, big guy." From the corner of her eye, she saw Bobby's lip quirk up in a smirk. She returned it, and when Rufus spoke again, she could hear the smile in his voice too.

**"They've all been sucked dry."**

"A vampire, then."

**"That's the obvious answer. I thought so too… but I found something."**

There was a single computer in the middle of the desk in front of her, Bobby's; and a few seconds after Rufus said what he said, Aubrey heard a loud _ding_ come from the PC. An e-mail.

**"Check your inbox."**

Bobby looked up from his textbook and met Aubrey's gaze for a fraction of a second; but in that unbelievably short span of time, she saw that _he could not give a single shit _about what Rufus was saying, or why an e-mail had just flew into his inbox. Apparently, Rukorokubi were very serious business.

He looked away from Aubrey and stood up, placing a hand on his hip. Aubrey had seen him do that too many times. She knew that he was (mentally) in hunter mode. "Okay, look…" he started, but Aubrey didn't hear what he said next because there was another _ding_ from the PC.

**"Hurry up,"** Rufus said. **"My battery's almost out."**

Aubrey cocked an eyebrow. "Seriously?" When only a harsh grunt came from the other end, she sighed and leaned forward. She pressed the _On_ button for the monitor and the PC whirred to life. Her hand already on the mouse, she clicked the tab that led to Bobby's e-mail account.

It was already open and logged on.

She clicked the Inbox, and she was immediately led to a page where there was a long string of messages, all meant for Bobby, all holding pinned documents or images. There were a few titles that caught Aubrey's eye, but she forced her curiosity down and set her eyes on the two recent, unopened ones.

They were the only ones that stood out, with text typed out in bold letters and a red exclamation mark at the beginning of the text. The first one read: **CRIME SCENE, 1**. As expected, the second one read: **CRIME SCENE, 2**. Aubrey opened the first one, and was met with a large image of a man's hand. She assumed it was Rufus', but the dark skin wasn't what she was looking at.

On the centre of his palm was a large clump of brown hair; it was thick, giving Aubrey the impression that it had come from one of the victim's, a woman maybe (it was _that_ long). Either that, or it was a werewolf.

But why would werewolf hair be on one of the victims? Wasn't it a vampire case? Aubrey frowned. "What's this for—?"

**"The other one."**

Without a moment of hesitation, she went back to the Inbox and opened the other message, and that's when all the questions came flooding into her mind.

The image once again contained a large black hand—this time, it was undoubtedly Rufus'. He held something green and shiny between his two fingers that was almost the size of a guitar pick, but bigger. Only when Aubrey narrowed her eyes and looked closer did she find that it was _not_ a guitar pick, but a scale.

A genuine, reptilian scale.

That explained why it was circular and shiny and green, but why was it so _large_? It was about the size of the pad of Aubrey's thumb (though she had to bring her hand up and look to make sure).

Aubrey uploaded both photos immediately before opening them both, making them fit into the screen so she could inspect them with ease. Questions and assumptions raced around her head that she could barely form a single word. So, the only thing that _did_ come out was: "What the…"

**"My same reaction,"** Rufus said. **"What do you think then? Some kind of new breed of werewolf?"** There was no sarcasm in his voice.

"It's not a full moon," Aubrey remarked in a monotone voice. Her mind was still racing. "And that doesn't explain why the victims are all drained of blood. Werewolves don't drink blood."

**"I wouldn't be surprised if they did. The world's gone whack."**

"I noticed." Aubrey started tapping on the table once more. "Rufus, I'm gonna show Bobby this. Try to find out whatever else you can about the victims. I'll call you back as soon as possible."

**"Gotcha."**

Aubrey was the first to hang up, but she took little pride in it considering the case she'd been exposed to. She pushed away from the desk and closer to Bobby.

He'd already moved on to a different caller, so the Rukorokubi case had been put down and he was free for different matters now. Aubrey tapped his leg five times in quick succession, immediately drawing his attention. He raised his head and cocked an eyebrow, not halting in his speech to the hunter on the other end of the phone line.

However, as soon as Aubrey pointed him to the images from Rufus, he faltered. For a few moments, Bobby just stared at the pictures with his jaw hanging open. But then he caught himself and quickly excused himself from the caller. He hung up, put the phone down, slowly walked to the PC, leaned towards it, and placed his hands on either side as if he needed the support to stand.

"Rufus says the victims have all been drained of blood. Those were the only pieces of evidence he could find." Aubrey paused and took in the old man's expression before continuing. "He thinks it might be a vampire hybrid or something."

"It's not a hybrid," Bobby said. His hand flew for the mouse and he immediately opened a new tab, typing in the word "Picacu" on his search engine. The name sounded oddly familiar to Aubrey. She frowned, trying to remember where she'd heard it from.

And then a story popped into mind, one her father had told her on numerous occasions. It was then that Aubrey couldn't blame Bobby for being so stunned.

"I'll be damned."

* * *

Her visit to Aiden's house didn't get her as excited as before, which would have been reasonable if it weren't for the fact that it was only her third official visit.

Yesterday evening, Bobby had called Rufus again and told him the theory. "It's a damn Picacu," he'd said. (Now that Aubrey thought about it, it wasn't much of a suggestion as it was a statement.) Bobby was absolutely positive that it was a Picacu, and while Aubrey thought the name sounded made-up, Rufus seemed to have heard about it before as well.

Apparently, a Picacu was some higher of ghoul. Almost all of them had shaggy hair, even in their normal forms; but as soon as they turned demon, they'd get scales all over their body.

Or, at least, that's what lore said.

They only lived in India though, Sri Lanka on occasion. There was no logical reason for a hunter to have found one in the smaller towns of Montana. Had they colonized? _How_? Bobby didn't know much else about the Picacu, or what diet they were on, but even a rookie could tell that they had a sweet tooth for war troupers.

"Have you narrowed down the field yet?" was the last thing Bobby had asked.

**"I'm gonna do some more digging tomorrow. Hopefully the bitch'll be dead by Friday."**

"Alright—"

**"Hey, Bobby."**

"Hm?"

**"You don't happen to know how to kill one of them, do you?"**

For the whole night, Aubrey and Bobby hit the books and the net on everything even _technically_ close to Picacu's, what they were, how to kill them, and everything on the matter.

Her mind was so stuffed with myths and legends that by the time Greg opened the door, she'd almost taken her gun out from her bag because the image of a Picacu was stuck in her head.

Thankfully, _that_ didn't happen. Greg welcomed her inside the same way he always did, offering a cup of coffee or tea or some food. Seeing as though she and Bobby had barely eaten the previous night, Aubrey accepted the offer of food. She saw Greg grin from the corner of her eye and punched him lightly on the arm, right before he disappeared into the kitchen.

Aiden was already in his usual spot in the living room. He still had his shoes on though; and as Aubrey stared at him from outside the doorway, an idea sprung to mind.

She slowly crept into the room, using her hunter's pace so her boots wouldn't sound on the floor. Aiden was facing away from her, luckily; distracted by the toy cars he's always been obsessed with. It was easy for Aubrey to sneak up and jump him with a bear hug.

To her disbelief, he didn't run away to his father with a scowl on his face.

Instead, he yelped in surprise and started laughing loudly as Aubrey tickled his sides, causing him to fall to the floor, writhing and giggling. Aubrey didn't stop even then, only doing so when she knew that it was getting hard for him to breathe.

She sat him upright facing her and put her hands on his shoulders. "I have an idea."

"What?" Aiden said, still giggling.

"Ever heard of the game Hot Potato?"

The child frowned slightly. "No."

"Shame…" Aubrey schooled a bored expression on her face, but upon seeing the distressed look on Aiden's, put the grin back on. "I'll tell you what. How 'bout you go to your room and change into some cooler clothes"—she eyed the jeans he was wearing; he must have just come home from school—"and I'll take care of the game. Deal?"

"Deal!" He smiled widely before quickly running off, turning a corner that led to his bedroom. Aubrey stood up and brushed herself off, smiling to herself. _As is the nature of children,_ she mused in her head.

Now, where was she going to find a sock?

She turned around, subtly adjusting the backpack over her shoulder when she found Greg leaning by the doorway.

His hands were in his pockets, and on his face played a tiny smirk, barely visible to anyone else, but not to a hunter. Aubrey smiled. "Any idea where I might find a sock-ball?"

Greg motioned with his head to the hallway. "Come with me."

She followed him out of the living room. He walked her down an unfamiliar part of the house, and she only assumed that they were heading for one of the bedrooms… or the laundry room.

Once they got there, there were heavy footsteps running down the hallway. "Jenna?" Aiden's voice sounded, resounding all across the house.

"Coming," Aubrey called back. Responding to a name that was not her own felt odd, but the feeling wore off, as it always did. She turned back around and found Greg staring at her with a peculiar look on his face. She frowned. "What?"

"Nothing," he said immediately. "I didn't know you were good with kids."

_Neither did I. _He then rushed into the room they'd arrived at. Aubrey peeked through the doorway and found that it was indeed a bedroom, Greg's, and she looked away—more out of respect than embarrassment. A few seconds after, he came back out again with a pair of balled-up black socks in his hand. He handed the ball to her, and Aubrey tried to ignore the slight glint in his eye as she took it.

"So," she ventured slowly. "You do the teaching and I'll do the jokes?"

At that, Greg's smile widened. "I happen to be a professional Hot Potato player."

* * *

For the next hour or so, only yells of excitement and laughter was all Aubrey could hear.

Since the option of playing loud music was out the window, they decided just to run around the room throwing the ball-sock to whomever. And at first, Aubrey thought it was going to be a breeze, considering she'd been practically been raised to double-task. But it wasn't as easy as she thought.

More times than expected, she'd almost dropped the sock, but it was mostly due to the toy cars Aiden had left littered all over the floor. Stepping on one hurt like hell (and it was quite dangerous), and stepping _over_ one was considerably difficult because they were clustered beside each other.

Surprisingly, Aiden was actually very good at Hot Potato. In the middle of the game, Aubrey'd asked why he was so good at his hand-eye coordination (though she'd originally phrased it as: "How are you so good at catching?" because she was worried that he wouldn't understand).

The boy didn't stop giggling when he said, "Dad plays with me sometimes." Aubrey turned her gaze to Greg and grinned. Greg faltered in his movements. For a moment, he just stared at Aubrey. But in a second, Aubrey had thrown the sock to Aiden, who then threw it to Greg (a little higher up than necessary), who wasn't able to catch it; and therefore the sock hit Greg square on the nose.

He ended up just laughing it off, settling for a nice Chase-Aiden-Around-The-Room for a minute or so. When they were finished with that, Aubrey decided that it was dark enough outside for her to get back to Bobby's.

When she was already standing on the porch outside, saying her thanks and goodbyes to Greg, Aiden came up from behind him and hugged her—and that was the first time he ever did that.

Immediately afterwards, of course, when he had pulled away, the boy ran back into the house and disappeared from view. Greg stared after him before looking to Aubrey. They shared knowing smiles, and then Aubrey turned around and left.

* * *

**reviews pleeeeaaase! :DD**


	24. Chapter 24

**just a chapter about mothers in general-evil, possessive, and everything in-between. x'D**

**I DO NOT OWN SUPERNATURAL OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS; ONLY MY OC - AUBREY MILLIGAN - AND A QUARTER OF A QUARTER OF THIS PLOTLINE.**

* * *

Thursday was supposed to be a relaxing day for Aubrey, but Bobby had other plans—as always. He plopped her down on a chair once more and had her help him with the phones even though she didn't want to. After one try at it, she'd gotten tired. Then she remembered that Bobby did it all the time if he wasn't hunting, and thought, _"Might as well. I won't be able to visit Aiden today anyway."_

However, the next day she would. She'd planned on what she would do from morning until dawn, even though she was talking to hunters on the phone. In the short dulls between calls, an idea of a game she could play with Aiden sprung into her mind, and she would smile, right before one of the phones started ringing again.

Friday morning, Aubrey was dressed and ready for the day with a clear plan in mind, excitement bubbling up in her as she made her way down the stairs to the living room. Her original plot was to have breakfast with Bobby, maybe help him with the phones for a bit before heading to the Bishop's in the afternoon. And when she got home in the early evening, she would order a pizza for dinner and have a few drinks with Bobby while they chatted over a boring show on the television.

In her opinion, it was a good plan.

And she would have stuck with it, right down to the end, if it weren't for Sam and Dean waiting for her in the middle of the living room.

They weren't supposed to be back until tomorrow. The case should have taken them longer to crack, considering it was about dragons, and none of them knew anything about dragons.

Yet there they stood, Sam sitting on the chair in front of Bobby's desk and Dean sitting in one of the plump sofas by the corner. Bobby sat behind his desk, leaning forward with his arms crossed and three books in front of him. As soon as Aubrey walked in, she knew that something was up. The air within the room was too tense, too apprehensive. Normally when Sam and Dean had just gotten back from a hunt they would be celebrative, maybe have a few beers.

But there were no empty bottles or coolers in the room, not even a bag of burgers. (Aubrey was wishing for some breakfast.) She waited by the doorway, not quite standing in the middle of it as to not alert them of her presence.

"I got a name," Bobby was just saying.

"Okay." Dean's voice tilted upwards, a question.

"Mother."

"Mother?" Sam cut in, voicing what was in Aubrey's head. _Mother of what?_ "Mother of dragons?"

"I wish," Bobby said. There was a hint of anxiety in his tone. Aubrey discerned this from the way he spoke with hushed words. "It says it a few times here." There was a pause, and he took a deep breath. "_'Mother of All'_."

Aubrey frowned. _Mother of…?_ "What the hell does 'Mother of All' mean?" she heard Dean ask.

"I don't know."

Mornings weren't supposed to be like this. Mornings were supposed to be like those commercials people see on television, except less cheesy. Aubrey would walk in and immediately snatch a piece of bread/burger/pizza from Bobby's desk. Bobby would greet her with a "good morning", and she'd grunt in response, plopping down onto the dinner table. Then Bobby would hand her a mug of coffee, sit down with her, and they'd talk about nothing in particular.

Mornings weren't supposed to be filled with talk of dragons and strange titles, and Bobby wasn't supposed to be sitting behind his desk with books laid out in front of him.

Aubrey decided to announce her arrival before the boys expanded on their chosen topic.

Stepping through the doorway, she forcefully shoved a cheeky grin on her face. "Hi, guys!" she said. All three men jumped, startled at her arrival. Sam and Dean craned their necks and looked at her with wide eyes. Aubrey smiled at both of them. "You're back! And I'm sorry to interrupt your little merrymaking over here, but I couldn't help but to hear something about a 'Mother of All' presence." At the surprised looks on their faces, she raised an eyebrow, unamused at how they'd left her out of the meeting.

"Feel free to tell me all about your experience with dragons, as well as about that neat new book you have there." She nodded at the single book in front of Bobby, the only one with yellowed pages and a binding that she'd never seen before. "But seeing as you got no food on you, who's buying burgers?"

* * *

At 1 pm, while Aubrey drove to the Bishop's residence, so many thoughts of dragons and Purgatory were running through her head that she was just thankful that there weren't many people on the road that day. The streets were practically empty, except for her and a few others. Was today a vacation or something? She was too distracted to notice.

Bobby's words echoed in her head. _"Like I said, it'd take my golden years for me to translate this all. Basically the book tells about a door to Purgatory."_ Aubrey knew a certain perverted, Irish-accented demon that would kill to know anything about that. _"A door to let some_thing_ in._

_ "The Mother of All."_

Aubrey supposed that the title meant exactly what it sounded like. 'The Mother of All'… mother of all demons? No; Lucifer created the demons, and he certainly wasn't any _mother_… And it couldn't have been mother of all ghosts. Ghosts were just spirits of dead people.

Mother of all monsters, then?

The idea was a bit cliché, the thought that every single monster that they'd hunted—and even the ones that they hadn't—had come from one single essence. As cliché as it was, the possibility of it wasn't a big _'maybe'_ anymore considering the book Bobby had read the facts from dated back to the late 14th century.

And, if Aubrey thought about it, everything had gone pretty whack, as far as she could figure. Monsters that were supposed to be far away had somehow found themselves in majorly populated areas of America; like the Picacu Rufus had been talking about. They bred in India. No hunter from America had ever seen one. How had a hunter managed to stumble across one in Montana?

If—and this was a 50/50 percent _if_—the gates to Purgatory had been opened, and the Mother of All had been able to step through, that would be one logical reason for all the monsters in the world to gather. But that controversy had been going on for several months now. Was it possible that they'd been planning it for a while? That they'd heard of it and decided to meet, maybe disorient and confuse the hunters? If Aubrey didn't know better, she'd think that monsters were getting some higher IQ's lately.

But she did know better.

When she was close to the Bishop's house, it was 1:47 and she figured that she still had loads of time to play with Aiden and chat it up with Greg. Her stomach grumbled, and she remembered that none of the boys had gone out to buy breakfast for her before they started explaining the Mother of All-thing. She was starving, and an idea sprung forth from her head like daisies in the spring time.

Aiden's favourite was cheesy pizza. Aubrey was craving for some cheesy pizza.

_Pizza it is._

* * *

All three of them sat around the table, their eyes transfixed on the box of pizza that had still not been opened. Aiden brought his hand up and opened the lid the slightest bit, took a peek inside, and the room was immediately filled with the delicious scent of oven-baked ham and cheese. Aubrey's mouth watered.

"Here's what's gonna happen," Greg started, gently pushing Aiden's hand away from the pizza. The boy giggled, before settling back down in his chair. "I have three cards here"—he raised one hand, showing Aubrey and Aiden the three cards he held between his fingers—"King, Queen, and Joker. Whoever picks the King gets the first slice, the Queen, second, and the Joker, last."

Aubrey bobbed her head in agreement. "Fair enough."

"You get it, bud?" Greg looked to Aiden, and the boy nodded his head vigorously, smiling.

"Got it!"

"Alright." Greg held the cards out, facing them down. "No one looks until I say so. Aiden, you go first."

"Okay!" Aiden's face brightened up. He immediately went for the middle one, pulling it out very gingerly before setting it flat on the table. He was practically bouncing on his feet.

"Jenna." Greg nodded at Aubrey. "You next."

Nodding her head, she schooled a serious expression on her face as she reached forward, snatching the card at the right. That left Greg with the left card. He nodded as well, eyebrows furrowed in the solemnity of the moment. However, when Aubrey met his gaze, she almost lost it. Almost.

He set his card on the table facedown and rubbed his hands together, breathing deeply. "Alright," he said. "Here we go. One…" Aiden's hand was already on his card. "Two…" Aubrey and Greg reached for theirs at the same time, and then—"THREE!"

For a fraction of a second, the air in the room split with the sounds of their cards being flipped over. A moment later, Aiden let out a cry of triumph. Aubrey grinned, seeing that her card was a Queen, and she was smart enough to know that, by his reaction, Aiden had gotten the King. Which meant that Greg had gotten the Joker.

She turned her head to look at him and found his face contorted in disappointment. A huge pout was evident on his mouth, and his head drooped low. Aubrey knew that he was just acting though. Greg used the back of his hand to push the pizza box closer to Aiden, using the other one to cover his eyes. "Have you no shame!" he said melodramatically.

Aiden replied with a loud guffaw, already having opened the lid of the box. The bread was already sliced, and he easily slipped his tiny fingers beneath one of the slices. He pulled, and cheesy strings appeared instantly by the sides. He used his fingers to pull them back onto the pizza slice, wasting no time on taking the first bite.

A hum of satisfaction escaped his lips. As per the rules, Aubrey had to wait until he was finished chewing before she could get her own slice. Unfortunately, Aiden had grown comfortable enough with her to take his time. He chewed slowly and languidly, even wanting to taunt her enough to close his eyes. Aubrey allowed her foot to start thrumming on the floor as she watched him.

Her stomach grumbled again. Aiden seemed to hear this as well, for he smiled, before finally swallowing.

Aubrey made a wild grab for the pizza box. The lid flew open as she practically shoved her hand inside. She felt for what she wanted to be the biggest slice and, using her other hand, opened the lid wider.

Finally pulling away, she took a rather large bite from the slice she'd gotten. Her eyes fluttered closed as she chewed, and a purr of contentment started at the back of her throat. She didn't take long before swallowing, her hunger getting the best of her. When she opened her eyes again, she found Greg staring at her.

Mortification immediately rushed through her, and Aubrey set the pizza slice down on her plate, clearing her throat awkwardly. "Sorry," she said, sheepish. "Didn't have breakfast this morning."

"I don't mind." Greg shook his head, and Aubrey watched as a smile inched its way up his lips. "Just surprised me is all." He reached for a slice of the pizza, surprising her once again at how relaxed he was being about it. His excitement and playfulness at the game had obviously died down, though Aubrey didn't know why.

She just smiled at him and once again made an effort to ignore the glances he was giving her throughout the meal.

* * *

Aubrey went through with her original plans.

At 3:00, she played the Word Game with the boys (a game she'd learned from her earlier years travelling with her father throughout the many states of the country). They seemed to enjoy it, and Aiden knew more words than she'd originally hoped for.

Basically, the game just required the proper tongue, quick wits, and a large vocabulary. One person said a word. The person next in line would have to pick out the last letter of _that_ word, and think of his own that was also a word related to the previous word.

It took a while for Aiden and Greg to get the hang of it, but they did, and after about twenty minutes of testing, the minutes went by in a breeze. At one point, one of their rounds had gone like this.

"Pizza."

"Anchovies."

"Sauce."

"Every day."

"Yeah?"

"Honestly."

Greg ended up losing.

Afterwards, they decided to play Hot Potato again (because apparently this had become Aiden's favourite game, and he had been pestering Greg since the day before). Who was Aubrey to deny the child's game request? That time, however, she wanted things to be more challenging. They weren't simply to run around the living room throwing the sock around.

They were going to do it running around the house.

Of course, Aubrey had made sure that there weren't any toys littered on the floor. It was going to be much more dangerous if that was the case. Thankfully, most of the house's floorings were covered in carpets. And yet, Greg was still reluctant to agree with letting Aiden play.

"Why can't we just play in the living room like before?" he had asked, to which Aiden had replied with a "But daaaad!"

Greg raised his hands up in an act of innocence. "I'm just saying! It doesn't seem like such a safe idea." Then an idea seemed to have dawned on him, for his frown disappeared. He lowered his hands, smiling slightly. "How about we play outside?"

Aiden beamed, and was about to say something too; probably a cheer or a yell of excitement. But Aubrey beat him to the punch.

"But it's raining," she cut in, trying to keep her voice from wavering.

The frown returned on Greg's face, and he turned his head to look out the window, where the sun was shining and no dark clouds were to be seen. He turned his gaze back to Aubrey, raising an eyebrow. "No, it's not."

Aubrey feigned a look of surprise, widening her eyes and rushing to the window, where she deftly peeked through the glass. "Huh," she said, swallowing the growing lump in her throat. "I guess it's not."

Aiden let out a squeal of laughter, whereas Greg approached her and put a hand on her shoulder, frowning. "Jenna, are you alright?"

She raised her eyes to look at him and forced a grin onto her face. "Never better! Outside it is!" Aubrey slipped past the burly man and strolled to Aiden. Once reaching him, she slid her hands onto his waist and started tickling him. He let out a shriek of laughter before jumping away from her and running to the door to the front yard.

Without looking back to Greg, Aubrey followed him.

The real reason she didn't want them to be playing outside was because she knew it wasn't safe. Not completely, at least. She hadn't forgotten the reason she was having regular visits to the Bishop's in the first place. Her job was to keep Aiden safe, protect him, and keep Crowley's goons from finding him.

She knew that the bloke was dead. Castiel had burned his bones. But there were still his followers to worry about. Surely, they had started voting for a new King. And that new King would want Purgatory, if he was as criminal as his predecessor. The boys had found a book that talked about a so-called Gate to Purgatory. If the demons found out about that, they would come looking for the boys immediately. With the book, Aubrey supposed that demons wouldn't need Phoenixes to lead them to Purgatory anymore. That was just an assumption, no clarifications yet; but she didn't need clarifications to know that Aiden wasn't safe. And neither was she.

Playing out in the open, laughing out loud, and letting the whole world see their faces wasn't exactly keeping their heads down. Aubrey would rather have Aiden play indoors with Greg.

But then, didn't Aiden go to school every week day? That meant that he walked around the neighbourhood with his face (and soul) in plain sight. No demon activity had been spotted around the area so far. Aubrey had made sure that Bobby would tell her if he ever noticed anything strange.

That didn't make her any less hesitant about playing outdoors.

She made the game fairly easy for all of them. Whenever things started getting out of hand, noisy, she would purposefully drop the sock. And even though Aiden complained to her afterwards, she would feel accomplished. Throughout the game, people would often pass by and give them looks. Most of them were admirable anyway, not at all evil.

Aubrey still glared after every one of them.

Throwing the sock-ball to Greg, Aubrey found him staring again. It wasn't the sparkle-in-his-eye stare like the previous times. He was frowning as he passed the ball to Aiden, who ran around a tree, cheering loudly before passing it to Aubrey. She let it hit her shoulder.

"Are you sure you're okay, Jenna?" Greg asked, approaching her warily.

Aubrey sighed, puffing her cheeks out. "I guess I'm just really tired." It was then that she noticed the moon in the sky; barely visible among the clouds and the full violet sky. "And it's getting late. I should head home."

Both father and son looked to where Aubrey was looking. Aiden schooled on a pout, while Greg crossed his arms and said, "I suppose so. You need a ride?"

"I drive here every time, Greg. I'd think you were smart enough to know that I have a car." Aubrey threw him a cheeky grin; she later realized that she probably shouldn't have, because a blush crept up his neck and onto his face. Aubrey tore her eyes away from him and to Aiden, who looked up at his father with wide eyes.

"Your face is red!" the child said, practically gaping.

Greg ran a hand over his face and chuckled. "That's nothing, bud."

Smiling slightly, Aubrey picked the sock-ball off the ground and handed it to Aiden. "Here." She ruffled his hair and tickled him until he moved away, laughing. "I'll come back as soon as I can, alright, bud?"

Aiden hopped up to her once more. "When's that?"

"I'm not sure."

The boy deflated slightly. "Why not?"

"Something came up at work," Aubrey lied easily. "I'll be really busy for a few weeks, so I might not be able to find time to come here." It wasn't a lie, though it wasn't the full truth either. But she couldn't exactly tell him that the Mother of All was crossing over to their world and that was the reason she couldn't visit him anymore, now could she?

Aiden wasn't satisfied with her answer. He bounded up to her once more and hugged her legs (he wasn't tall at all). "Not even on the weekends?" When he looked up at her, his eyes were big and round, and a pout was on his lips. The face he always made when he asked for something from Greg, something he wanted really badly.

Unfortunately, Aubrey couldn't risk anything with him. "Not even on the weekends," she replied, rubbing his head absentmindedly. She needed to watch him, but she couldn't make any appearances anymore. If anyone saw her in the field laughing with him like that, it wouldn't end well for either of them. Demons were bound to still be looking; the threat of the Mother of All appearing loomed over her and the Winchesters. Aiden couldn't be brought into the picture unless absolutely necessary.

Snapping herself out of her thoughts, she gently pushed Aiden away and gave him a small wink. "I'll try though, okay?"

He sniffled, even though there were no tears. "Promise?"

_No._ Aubrey smiled. "Promise."

She finally looked up from him and to Greg, who had been watching this all from behind the child. He had his arms crossed, a smile on his face and a glint in his eye. Aubrey threw him a quick grin. "You'll be alright without me?"

He laughed, rolling his eyes. "I think we'll miss you. But yeah, we'll be fine."

"Good." Aubrey chuckled, before leaning down and giving Aiden one last hug. It was meant to be quick, and Aiden held onto her really tight. Pain tugged at her heartstrings, and it was all she could do to keep from explaining to him why she really needed to stay away.

When he finally let go, Greg approached the two of them and gave Aubrey a hug as well. It was really dark out now, and she almost couldn't see his face properly. She assumed that the same went for him with her. He hugged her, and it was just as long as Aiden's anyway, but his grip just as tight.

Aubrey took that chance to whisper in his ear, "Keep him safe." Her desperation had reached new heights, because she was enormously aware of the fact that it was quite possibly the last time she would be able to keep in touch with them for a long while. She wasn't going to be able to know any more if Aiden was still being bullied, or if Greg was having problems at work, or if Aiden was having trouble with school, or if both of them still didn't understand why Greg's wife, Aiden's mother, could call her own son a freak.

Greg pulled away, and confusion was written all over his face. Aubrey's request was simple; but she had to admit, the way she'd phrased would freak anybody out. So without saying anything more, she turned around, threw her fingers over her shoulder in a peace sign, and made for her car.

Just as she was walking down the sidewalk, however, another car rolled down the street and parked just a few paces away from her. In the dark, Aubrey could make out that it was a silver Mercedes. Light from the streetlamps bounced off the glittering car in waves as the driver's car door opened.

"Greg?" a woman's voice called out. "What are you doing outside? It's getting dark out!"

Aubrey held her breath, quickening her pace to her car.

"Who's that?"

_Oh crap,_ she thought, cursing under her breath as well because she knew that the woman was referring to her. And, Aubrey also had an assumption as to exactly _who_ the woman was.

"Open the porch light, will you, Aiden?" Aiden's mother said. There was the sound of rushing footsteps, and a few seconds after, light bathed Aubrey's back, her shadow appearing in front of her. By then, she'd stopped walking, and she felt like she was in a horror movie; the prey who had just gotten caught by the predator. Usually it was the other way around.

She turned around.

Standing on the sidewalk a few ways away from her was a middle-aged woman with caramel-coloured hair that reached just above her shoulder. Aubrey couldn't see the colour of her eyes from afar, but she didn't need to in order to feel them boring into her. Aubrey wasn't sure, but realization might have crossed her face. Or confusion. It was too soon to tell.

"Who's this?" the mother asked again. Someone answered, this time.

"Jenna," came Greg's voice. Aubrey's eyes flicked to him, and she could see that he had his arm around Aiden's shoulder.

"The infamous Jenna," the mother exclaimed, clapping her hands. Aubrey schooled on a shy smile and ventured nearer. "My husband has told me so much about you!"

The way he said _husband_ reminded Aubrey of how Dean said _pie_—possessively. Despite the anxiety coursing through her veins, Aubrey laughed light-heartedly in hopes that none of them would notice. She said, "He's told me a lot about you as well."

The mother's eyes brightened. "Oh! Well, I don't know about you, but I would love to have a proper conversation. Would you like to stay for dinner? We're having roast chicken; Aiden's favourite."

At the mention of his name, Aubrey let her eyes flicker to the boy and found that he wasn't looking very happy about the situation. Neither was Greg. And as Aubrey would never have accepted the invitation anyway, she wanted to find out more about the wicked mother Aiden and Greg had been so quiet about.

She smiled. "Dinner would be lovely."

* * *

**DUN DUN DUUUUUUNNNNN AHAHAHHA review please.**


	25. Chapter 25

**I KNOW THAT THIS IS HELLA LATE AND THAT IS WHY I AM REWARDING YOU LOVELIES WITH TWO CHAPTERS. OKAY? OKAY. LOVE YOU. MWAH MWAH.**

**I DO NOT OWN SUPERNATURAL AND ALL THAT JAZZ - ONLY AUBREY AND AIDEN. THEY'RE MINE.**

* * *

Staying for dinner was the last thing on Aubrey's mind. And in her opinion, she just did it out of impulse; because she was going to meet the woman who had thrown her own son under the bus (figuratively); because she was going to be able to watch her interact with her husband; because she was going to find out her name.

The four of them sat around the dinner table. Greg and Aiden sat beside each other, across from them was Aubrey, and at the head was an empty seat reserved for the mother. Aubrey found out that her name was Lorraine. A memory crept up from the back of her mind, then; perhaps a person she'd been acquainted with in her childhood. The memory was quickly swept away when Lorraine stepped into the room with a steaming plate of sliced roast chicken.

"Dinner is served," Lorraine said gleefully, setting the plate down on the middle of the table. By the way Aiden reached for his knife and fork immediately, Aubrey believed that it was indeed his favorite… next to cheesy pizza, of course.

A sharp click escaped Lorraine's lips as she slapped Aiden's hand away from his utensils. Aiden jumped and elicited a light yelp, startled. Greg flinched visibly on his seat, but didn't make a move.

"What do we do before eating?" Lorraine asked, raising an eyebrow. The kind smile on her face suggested it was an innocent question of a mother to her son, but her previous actions (as well as the scowl on her face not a minute ago) suggested differently.

Aiden answered with his head bowed. "Say Grace."

"Exactly." Lorraine didn't seem like a very religious person to Aubrey; but then again, Greg was religious. She'd seen the cross hanging on his neck more times than she could count. "Are you a religious person, Jenna?" Lorraine asked her.

Aubrey put on a cynical smile. "I'd like to think of myself as an Agnostic."

"What's that?" Aiden asked, straightening up in his chair.

"Someone who disbelieves in God, but doesn't _not_ believe in Him either."

A moment of silent passed, before Aiden scratched his head. "Um…"

Her lips curled up in a small smile, and she leaned closer to Aiden so she didn't need to speak to him so far across the table. It was impolite. "Let me rephrase that," she started. "I believe that God exists. I just don't like him very much." For a moment, she expected thunder to roll overhead. But then she remembered that The Man upstairs had left his post a long time ago.

Understanding crossed Aiden's face as his mouth formed an _O_. He leaned back in his chair once more and frowned; the same frown that was always there when he was thinking very deeply about something. Aubrey wasn't sure if it was a good thing or a bad thing.

"Lovely," Lorraine said, and Aubrey raised her head to meet her disapproving gaze. Aubrey narrowed her eyes, because the woman's gaze wasn't just judgmental. It was cold. Did she hate her that much _already_?

Feeling awkward, Aubrey subtly shifted in her seat. "Where's the bathroom?" she asked, even though she'd explored the house enough to know it like the back of her hand.

Lorraine's stare did not falter. "Just take a right outside."

"I'll leave you to say Grace." Aubrey excused herself in a soft voice, pushing away from the table. As she was standing up, she caught Greg's eye. There was an underlying apology that was obvious on his face. She sent him a small smile, a nod of her head, and exited the room.

Once inside the bathroom, Aubrey locked the door and tried to collect her thoughts.

Lorraine had trapped her; that was for sure; put her in a situation where it would have been rude to turn away. It was their first meeting, and Aubrey already despised her. Her attitude, her face, the way she treated Aiden and Greg.

Looking down at her watch, Aubrey found that it was about 7 o'clock. Bobby and the boys were probably at home having dinner if they weren't driving around town looking for her. She just hoped that they were smart enough to figure she'd gotten caught up and she was still at the Bishop's. But, then again, none of them knew how to get to her.

Aubrey splashed cold water onto her face and used a towel to dry it afterwards. By then, an acceptable amount of time had passed and it was time for her to go out again. She took a deep breath, straightened her plaid blouse (which was not an appropriate sense of clothing for a fancy dinner, by the way), and opened the door.

They had already started eating the chicken without her, but she didn't actually mind. Aiden was more focused on his food that he didn't really notice when she came in. Greg and Lorraine, however, raised their heads to acknowledge her presence.

"Success?" Greg inquired, raising an eyebrow.

"Ha ha." Aubrey rolled her eyes and stuck her tongue out at him; though it was then that she noticed Lorraine glaring at her, her eyes as cold as ever. Aubrey resisted the urge to roll her eyes again. _I'm not flirting with your damn husband, woman. Get the hell over it._

She returned to her seat and helped herself to the food, making sure not to get too much so Aiden would be stuffed by the end of the night. Obviously, he wasn't used to such satisfaction, because he let out a cheer before ladling more of the chicken onto his plate.

From the corner of her eye, Aubrey could see Lorraine looking distastefully at her son. "I swear," the woman started. "You eat like you won't ever see food again, Aiden."

That nearly sent Aubrey over the edge. But she was surprised as well. Up until then, she hadn't seen the darker side of Lorraine conversing with Aiden. Their relationship obviously hadn't been over-dramatized by the boy. Seeing the Aiden's distress, Aubrey winked at him, and made sure that he saw it too. He grinned back at her before returning to his meal, albeit slower than before.

"So how long have you two been married?" Aubrey asked, struggling to take their eyes off of the boy.

Lorraine didn't look up when she answered, "We're not married."

_Um…_ The corner of Aubrey's lip twitched. "How long have you been _together_, then?"

It took a moment for her to get her reply, which was: "About two years now."

Aubrey almost choked on her food. "Two—" She cut herself off, the chicken rubbing itself roughly against her throat. Her eyes stung as she reached for her glass of water. When the coughing fit finally passed, she came into her senses enough to notice that Aiden was patting her back rather harder than was necessary. She pushed his hand away gently, giving him a small smile, which he returned before going back to his seat.

"I'm sorry," Aubrey started, drinking more of her water and keenly aware of the deathly look Lorraine was giving her. "Aiden can't be more than ten, but he couldn't be _that_ young, obviously. Is he adopted or—"

"She's my second wife."

She turned to Greg, who had answered her question. It was little more than a murmur, but Aubrey heard it. And she was grateful, of course, but at that moment she wished he hadn't replied. Because Lorraine was glaring daggers at him, even as he kept his head down.

"Oh…" Aubrey trailed off, trying to think of something appropriate to say because it was obvious that Lorraine didn't like talking about the first wife (though Aubrey started having a growing suspicion that Lorraine just didn't like talking to her in general). "I'm sorry," she said for the second time that evening. "I didn't know. I shouldn't have—"

"It's fine." Lorraine's voice had returned to its original cheerful tone, but Aubrey was a hunter and she could see right past that. In fact, she wanted to ask more about Aiden's late mother. Was it possible that her death was similar to what happened to her own's? That Gabriel or another archangel could have been behind it? The possibility of another archangel being the killer was much higher than it being Gabriel. Gabriel was dead. Although, there was the small matter in which _when_ the first mother died. Aubrey did the math in her head and decided that it was still possible for Gabriel to have been the killer.

Feeling slightly guilty about the situation (and she didn't even know _why_), Aubrey subtly turned to Greg and found him still staring down at his food. That brought her back to her bothersome, but more practical senses. _I might as well ask,_ she told herself. _It's not like I mind being kicked out._

"When was this?" Aubrey asked, taking a bite of her chicken and trying to act as casual as possible. "When Aiden's mother died, I mean." She forced herself to keep her eyes off of Lorraine as well in hopes of keeping her confident attitude.

Greg's head snapped up to look at her, surprised. And Aubrey suspected that if it weren't for Lorraine being in the same room, he would have answered sooner. "A few years after Aiden was born," he replied anyway. "He was four, I think."

Aubrey looked to Aiden, smiling softly. "And you're seven now, right?" He nodded once. _I was older than four when my mother died. Lorraine came into the picture when he was about six years old. Aiden doesn't seem to like talking about this very much._

All these thoughts flew by in Aubrey's head, confirmations, in less than ten seconds. Once they were gone, she had to ask another question: "What happened?" Greg already knew what she meant.

"Car accident," he quickly said. Aubrey flinched slightly at the term, remembering what happened to her not two years ago. It wasn't very visible, and she was thankful for that. She forced the painful memories out of her mind and focused on the scene in front of her once more.

A few seconds had passed. "Stop that!" Lorraine was saying. "We shouldn't be talking about this in front of Aiden. Greg, you should know better!" At that, Greg lowered his head once more. Lorraine sort of had a point, but if Aubrey could voice her retort, she'd point out that a mother shouldn't be snapping at other people in front of her child.

Instead, she just said, "I'll drop it," with a smile for added acrimony. Lorraine was pleased with this, however, and didn't say anything more.

The dinner finished only a few minutes afterwards, when Aiden announced that he was full. Aubrey knew that this wasn't true, and he was still craving for more, but Lorraine seemed happier even though her food had gone to waste. "That's a first," Aubrey heard her mutter under her breath, and she resisted the urge to flip her The Finger. It wouldn't have been appropriate for Aiden to see. Hoping to ease up the angry tension, she even offered to wash the plates (but staying longer was the last thing on her mind). Lorraine told her not to bother since it was Greg's night for the dishes.

"Please, let me," Aubrey insisted. "After having you make dinner for me—"

"It wasn't just for you."

Aubrey was (barely) successful with keeping her smile in place. "I feel guilty."

"Don't be." At that, Lorraine walked away, and replacing her spot in front of the kitchen sink was Greg. Aubrey was about to strike up a conversation with him as well when he shook his head. It was an elusive gesture, and if Aubrey didn't know better she'd think that it wasn't meant for her. But something in her told her that it was, in fact, meant for her. She took the hint and said her goodbyes to him, ones he returned with less vigour, before moving onto the living room, where Aiden was sure to be.

He was there, of course, but Lorraine was there as well. And they seemed to be having a quarrel of sorts.

Lorraine's voice was the first thing Aubrey heard. "Aiden, I am not in the mood for one of your jokes." Curious, Aubrey crept to the edge of the doorway, where she stood flat against the wall with her ears pricked.

"It's not a joke," Aiden said, and Aubrey could hear that he was trying to sound convincing, but he sounded scared. "I tried to tell you about her, but you wouldn't listen."

"You've seen before. In the park, maybe at school. That's where the drawing came from, is that right?"

"I've been dreaming about her, mama!" Aubrey didn't know why, but she flinched when Aiden called Lorraine _mama_. She supposed that he'd had enough time to make it a habit.

"Don't lie to me, Aiden."

"I'm not lying!"

"You are! What you're saying is impossible."

"Why won't you listen to me? You _never_ listen to me—!"

"I won't hear any more of this," Lorraine said, sounding absolute. "You'll go to your room, finish your homework, and sleep as soon as you're done."

Aiden's voice raised an octave. "But I wanna play with Jenna! And I don't even have school tomorrow—"

"_Jenna,_" Lorraine interrupted, "is leaving."

Aubrey bristled at the words, but as much as she hated to admit, she really did have to head back to Bobby's. She raised her head and looked at the clock, and found that it was thirty minutes past 7. The boys were probably going crazy. Aubrey hated to leave, but she didn't really have any other choice. And it wasn't a spur of the moment decision either, even though that was when Aiden suddenly stepped through the doorway. Aubrey flinched back, surprised at his sudden appearance.

He noticed and whipped around to face her, and it was then that she saw light screen of tears over the puffy eyes above his red nose. A small whimper escaped his throat, and he was the first to wrap his arms around her torso. Aubrey laced an arm around his shoulders and stroked his head gently with her free hand. His small frame shook against her as he sobbed, staining her clothes with tears.

Heartache bloomed across Aubrey's chest, sympathy. She couldn't relate to the boy. Her parents had always been very loving and gentle with her, and though her father sometimes had scolded her for being careless during a hunt, it was never like this. It was never lengthy. All she could do for Aiden was offer him words of comfort, pat his back, make him laugh, and it burned Aubrey to know that things like that were never enough.

"Hey," she murmured softly. "It's gonna be alright, okay?" _Lorraine can't see this._ "Things'll get better." _Lorraine can't even be _hearing_ this._ "Just try not to think about it so much." _She's right at the other room; _of course_ she's hearing this. I'm so screwed._ Was she selfish for thinking that? That even though a boy was crying in her arms, she still thought about her own problems?

But then again, _both_ of them would get screwed over if Lorraine saw; which meant that, as much as Aubrey hated to, it was just better to just cut things short.

She gently pulled away from Aiden, keeping her hands on his shoulders to keep them from shaking so much. "Aiden," she started. "I have to get going. You understand that, right?" Still sniffling, the boy nodded. "Now, I'm really sorry about what's happening to you, but whenever your mom's gone"—she let her voice turn into a whisper—"you talk to your dad, okay? He loves you to bits. He'll make you feel better."

"I'm gonna miss you" was all he said in response. And as much as Aubrey appreciated it, she hoped that he'd actually listened to what she'd just said. Greg was getting restless.

Sounds of plates clacking together came from the kitchen, and Aubrey was just about to tell Aiden to go to his room, do what his mother told him to, when the doorbell rang. Aubrey's head snapped to the main door that was down the hall, staring at it through narrowed eyes. The bell rang again, twice. "Greg!" Lorraine's voice called from the living room. The sound of running tap water stopped. Greg appeared from inside the kitchen, walking briskly to the door.

Subconsciously, Aubrey steered Aiden behind her. "Go do your homework, Aiden," she said, sounding just like Lorraine a few minutes ago. She hated it, but the urgency of the people on the other side of the door sent warning bells going off in her head.

"Bye, Jenna…" Aiden's small voice came from behind her. Aubrey's heart clenched. When she turned around, he was already running down the hallway and to his room. Frowning, she whipped her head back around and tried to focus on the possibility of impending danger. The door was already open, though, and in front of Greg stood the two people Aubrey hadn't been hoping to see until she got home.

"Dean," she called. He had been glaring at Greg. Sam was with him too, apparently trying his normal approach with strangers before they heard Aubrey's call. Their eyes found her easily, whereas Greg had to turn around to look at her.

"You know these guys?" Greg asked.

"I should," Aubrey replied, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "They're my brothers; the ones I've told you about, the ones you've been so eager to meet?" Realization dawned on the man's face, and he whipped his head back to look at the brothers by the door once more, with newfound excitement.

Outside, Dean's eyebrows rose. "You _told_ him about us? Aub—" Sam subtly elbowed him the same moment Aubrey's stare turned icy. "—Jenna, you told us you'd be back by 5."

"I got caught up." Aubrey threw the boys a knowing look, and they seemed to understand, for they took a step back from the door, their faces softening up.

"Well," Sam started, taking a quick glance at Greg. "Bobby's looking for you. He's got news." _A hunt?_ That's what _news_ normally meant in the life of the Winchesters. "It's getting late. We'll wait by the car." His words were short and clipped, and Aubrey was beginning to suspect that they were upset with her. She couldn't actually blame them.

"I'll catch up," Aubrey said, waving her hand.

Sam and Dean nodded in acknowledgement, but before they could walk back to the Impala, Greg held his hand out. "It's wonderful to finally meet you both," he stated. "I hope you come back. Aiden's dying to meet you too." The brothers shook his hand, and Aubrey was grateful.

"We'd like to meet him too," Dean replied gruffly, and that was it, apparently. As he turned around, Aubrey caught him lift his eyebrow, a question. She furrowed her eyebrows in response. _Tell you later_ it meant.

They walked back outside until they were out of eyeshot, and once they were, Aubrey made a move to follow them. "You remember what I said, alright?" she told Greg sternly. "About Aiden?"

"How could I forget?" he replied, smiling slightly.

Aubrey rolled her eyes at the smug expression on his face, knowing that it was there because he had finally been able to meet the boys. She playfully punched his arm, but repented soon afterwards and pulled him in for one last hug instead. "I'll see you around," she murmured against his shoulder. He hummed in response.

Once she'd pulled away, she patted his arm. "Tell Lorraine I said thank-you."

"No promises."

That was the last laugh they shared before Aubrey turned away from him, starting on her brisk walk to where the boys waited. They parked the Impala behind where her own car (the one Bobby lent) was parked. Sam was leaning against the hood, and Dean was standing by him, his eyes already on Aubrey.

"He seems nice," he said, crossing his arms.

Aubrey pointed a finger at him. "You should meet Lorraine."

"Who's that?"

"The wife," she answered, but thought better. "AKA the wicked stepmother, AKA the reason you had to come looking for me in the first place."

Sam chuckled as he threw Dean the car keys. "You sure have a lot of explaining to do."

"Tell me about it," Aubrey grumbled, taking out the keys to her own car.

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**positive reviews make me feel good about life. ^^**


	26. Chapter 26

"It's a little too early for another hunt, don't you think, Bobby?" Aubrey asked, looking up from her burger.

Bobby held his hands up defensively. "I wasn't even looking for one. Dean found one himself and took to it like duck to water."

"They couldn't even have stayed for the weekend?"

"They get restless." His voice turned defensive, and Aubrey couldn't help but feel the same way. "You know that. Ever since Sam—"

"Yeah, yeah, I remember." She waved her hand in dismissal of the memory, not wanting the distraction. "It sucks that I couldn't come with them though."

Her companion took a sip of his beer. "You're the one who said no. And for good reason. That boy needs someone to watch over him just as much as a baby needs diapers."

Aubrey smiled at his choice of words, but it disappeared as soon as it came. "That doesn't make it any less lame," she grumbled, taking a bite out of her burger. It tasted like plastic by that point, but fast food wasn't exactly 5-star restaurant quality, and she was hungry. "I get restless too, you know."

"Then help me with the phones. Or go out, get some new clothes."

"I stopped growing when I turned 20. You know that."

Bobby made an exasperated sound from the back of his throat. "Then get a new pair of shoes! You keep saying that you don't wanna sit around all day, so why don't you go out? Damn hypocritical is what you're being."

The sudden outburst startled Aubrey. She leaned back in her chair, staring at Bobby with narrowed eyes. He was hunched in his seat, rubbing his hands across the bottle of beer and gathering the moisture around his fingertips before letting them back onto the bottle. Bobby never did that. And only when Aubrey realized this did she notice the bags beneath his eyes. She had always known that late nights were hard on hunters, even more so for Bobby, but the stacks had never been so prominent before.

To know the reason behind them, she didn't even need to ask. "That bad?"

"It's been a bitch, that's for sure," he said, suddenly sounding very weary. "This Mother-of-All crap is really taking its toll on me, ain't it?" Aubrey bobbed her head once, sympathy coiling in her chest for the old man. "That book the boys found ain't helpin' much either. Like I said before, it'd take my golden years to translate all of it."

"Nothing new, then?"

"Just a little more of the same."

Pursing her lips, Aubrey inspected the burger in her hand and let her mind take over.

Sam and Dean had picked her up from the Bishop's Friday night. As soon as they got back, she found out that they'd driven all around town looking for her, and had only stopped at the Bishop's because they saw her car parked there.

She only wished that, without Crowley, demons would miraculously just become stupid.

Of course, remembering Crowley and demons brought back some awful memories. Christian, the pain, those long hours of torture, _dying_… then there was Purgatory. Things from that place were still hazy, but it only ever led back to Aiden; the boy who had been there with her, who had so coincidentally died almost the same moment she did, and was brought back to life the same instant she was.

Aside from Aiden, she remembered waking up and that the first thing she saw was blue eyes. Castiel's. It had been so long since they'd last seen each other but she could still remember how he frowned whenever he concentrated, how he shied away from the slightest hint of skin (from Aubrey), how his eyes were just like the sea, how his lips were so soft when she first kissed them.

Had it been his first kiss? Aubrey couldn't help but wonder, because he might have kissed her back. Did he? She couldn't recall. Suddenly feeling self-conscious, she opened her mouth, planning on asking Bobby. But then that would have been weird, wouldn't it? And he couldn't have known. He wasn't even with them during the Trickster case.

Then she remembered what their current topic was in the first place, and thought that she couldn't have been more stupid. She snapped her fingers together in a loud gesture, once again gaining Bobby's attention. He raised an eyebrow, and she pointed at him, saying, "We could call Cas. I bet he'd know how to translate all that crap."

Bobby rolled his eyes. "Don't you think I've tried that already?"

"How many times have you tried?"

"Once," he grumbled.

"Were Sam and Dean with you?"

"They were on a hunt."

"I really hate to say it, Bobby, but Cas has some bias issues." Bobby made a humming sound from the back of his throat that must have meant he agreed. Aubrey grinned, before clapping her hands onto her lap. "Do you wanna try again?"

A small frown appeared on his face as Bobby scratched his beard. "I suppose it's worth a shot." His eyes flickered to meet Aubrey's. "You _are_ his favourite."

Aubrey tried her best to ignore that last part and stood up. "Where'd you like to do it?"

Bobby looked left to right with wide, questioning eyes. He shrugged. "Ain't this as good a place as any?"

Thinking about it for a moment, Aubrey pursed her lips as she dropped back down onto her chair. Why had she wanted to go someplace else? What was she hoping for? It was just going to be a simple talk. The kitchen was an okay place for that. _The kitchen's an okay place for a _talk_, Aubrey,_ she sternly repeated to herself. When she looked up from her stupor, she found Bobby staring at her with a raised eyebrow. Aubrey threw him a quick grin, to reassure him, but to reassure herself as well. "Here we go…" She took a deep breath, clasped her hands together, and closed her eyes. In front of her, she heard Bobby sigh.

"Cas?" Aubrey started, rather unceremoniously. She cleared her throat. "Could you come down here a sec, please? We found this book, and there's some pretty dark stuff in it. Mostly stuff about Purgatory and this _Mother of All_ character. Bobby is taking years to translate it—no offense"—she cracked open one eye and saw the man sneer at her cynically—"and I'd appreciate it if you helped us with that bit, since you've kind of been alive for a gajillion years." She heard Bobby chuckle.

Seconds passed, and there were still no signs of the angel appearing in the room. "Cas?" No sound of flapping wings. "Please?" Not even a gust of wind. Something in her snapped. "Oh, come on. Don't be a bitch. How long has it been? A few weeks? Bobby's been calling you—"

"Aubrey."

"Hang on—and you didn't come for him. Is it still that bad up there? Are you like, _"Oh my Jesus, I have a sword in my stomach, I'll just pull it out and keep going,"_ right now? Well, I guess if you think about it, that's sort of funny. But—"

"_Aubrey_."

"_Give me a minute—_I'm trying to be serious here. Why won't you friggin _answer_?!"

"Aubrey!"

"_What_?" Aubrey's head snapped up, her expecting gaze immediately settling on Bobby, who hadn't moved from his spot sitting across from her. "I thought you wanted me to call Cas!"

"You don't need to yell at him anymore, Aub," he said. He wasn't even looking at her, but over her shoulder; as if something—or some_one_ was standing there.

Aubrey's heart dropped into her stomach. The first thought that occurred to her was: how had he come in so quietly? Holding her breath, she took her time in craning her torso around, not quite wanting to meet the angel's eyes just yet after everything she'd just said.

He was standing by the doorway leading out of the kitchen. Nothing about him had changed, as Aubrey had expected. The intense stare that Aubrey was sure was permanently etched onto his face. The trademark trench coat and familiar business suit beneath. The short cropped dark hair and the warm, blue eyes. The slightly hunched over shoulders. His hands (that Aubrey recalled to be very warm) dangling stiffly by his sides.

He regarded Aubrey with a look she couldn't pinpoint the name to. And she, remembering everything she'd said in order to get him to come, gawked at him with wide eyes. "Um…" she started, laughing nervously. "You know I was just kidding about all of that, right?"

Castiel's expression remained the same. "It's been a while."

The way he said it made her think that maybe he was overstretching it a little. A few days was nothing compared to how long Dean hadn't seen him after losing Sam to the Cage—a year. But Aubrey appreciated the words nonetheless. And as always, she didn't even try to point it out.

She schooled on an easy grin. "You missed me?"

"Yes" was his immediate answer; and as much as Aubrey wanted to strangle him for saying that in front of Bobby (she wouldn't hear the end of it from him), she actually felt the heat rush up to her cheeks. She tried to hide most of her face behind her hair as she ducked her head, pretending to inspect something beneath her shoe.

Behind her, Bobby's chair creaked. "Alright, Romeo," he started, a teasing tilt in his voice. "Mind explainin' to us why it took you so long to pick up the goddamn phone?"

Castiel frowned. "You've only ever called me once before. That was the only time I didn't answer, wasn't it?"

Bobby grunted in response. "And might I ask _why_ you didn't answer?"

"I was in the middle of a fight." The angel turned to look at Aubrey, knowing eyes boring into hers. "You would know."

Despite the tingling sensation running across her body, making her sit rigidly, Aubrey craned her neck and murmured to Bobby, "Told you so."

The old man's lip twitched. Nothing more. "Why didn't you come _after,_ then?"

Could angels lie? Aubrey had a growing suspicion that they could definitely _try_, but other than that, they couldn't. She had attempted to teach Castiel how to lie before, when they didn't even have to worry about finding Sam's soul yet, and both of them ended up with more than a few bruises on their backs from being chased away with a broomstick.

Apparently, Castiel hadn't continued the habit. He didn't answer Bobby, bowing his head and pursing his lips.

"Forget it," Bobby said from behind Aubrey, sighing loudly. "You're just lucky I ain't Dean. Or Sam. Either of them would have thrown a tantrum."

Castiel raised his head and looked around, his eyebrows furrowing. Aubrey already knew what he was going to ask. "Where _are_ the brothers?"

"Hunting," Aubrey quickly replied.

"Where?"

"Bristol, Rhode Island." A hint of a smile ghosted over her lips. "You planning on going there any time soon?"

"I have no time for a vacation," the angel said, taking slow, steady steps towards her and Bobby. "What did you need me here for?"

Aubrey frowned slightly, taking in his every move with narrowed eyes. He was always in such a hurry to leave. She hated it. She missed the times when they didn't exactly have all the time in the world, but when they spent whole days together just trying to figure out how to save other people's asses. And though a civil war in heaven should have been a perfectly good excuse for him to spend so much time away, Aubrey still hated it.

Taking one last moment to herself, she swivelled back around in her chair to look to Bobby. He met her gaze, held her hand out, and said, "Book."

He pushed off from his chair, grumbling. "No need to get so bossy."

"I'm not the only one," Aubrey muttered under her breath, staring after the old man as he walked out of the kitchen and into his study, where his book lay on top of a large pile on his desk. In the few moments she was left alone with Castiel, neither of them said a single word. The angel had snatched up a chair (Aubrey didn't know from where) and had set it down beside her. He took his seat, and she gave him a large grin.

Before he could give her a sign of acknowledgement, she had turned her head away, because Bobby had walked back into the room with the old book the brother had found in his hands. He dropped it heavily onto the dining table, rattling their near-empty beer bottles.

Castiel's form went rigid beside Aubrey. When she looked at him, his eyes were fixed on the book. "Where did you get that?" the angel asked, his voice so low that Bobby might not have heard. Aubrey took it to herself to answer.

"Sam and Dean found it," she said. "In a dragon's cave at Oregon."

The angel remained quiet. Aubrey supposed that that was because he was thinking. The angel ran his hand across the hardbound front of the book, an indecipherable look on his face. Aubrey frowned. "Cas? What is it?"

"If you require me to read it for you, I can't," he said in a monotone voice.

Aubrey only worried more. "You've seen it before." It wasn't a question. "What's in those pages, Cas?"

"I have to go."

"_What_?" She watched as he pushed himself away from the table, the chair falling away as it caught on the carpet. He didn't look back. "Cas!" Aubrey called. Behind her, Bobby's chair creaked as he stood up as well. The angel continued in his long strides until he was at the middle of the doorway. Just as Aubrey was about to call out again, there was the sound of heavily flapping wings. Aubrey blinked, and just like that, he was gone.

A string of curse words slipped through her teeth as Aubrey rose to her feet. "Son of a bitch," she growled, walking to where the angel had stood before he had disappeared.

"Relax," Bobby said in a calm voice, even though he had been the one who was snapping at her just a few minutes ago. "He does that all the time. It's probably just something important upstairs. He'll be back."

"I needed to talk to him," Aubrey hissed through her teeth. "About Aiden."

Bobby frowned. "What about Aiden?"

"I need someone to watch him. As long as this _Mother of All_ crap is going on, I can't visit him anymore. We can't risk demons finding him, or anyone else except us."

"You think Cas is gonna have the time to watch over a kid?"

The way he'd phrased it only pissed Aubrey off even more. "He should _find_ the time. It's _his_ Dad that's bitching to me about saving the entire species." _And how can I when we're the only two left?_


	27. Chapter 27

**I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING YOU RECOGNISE.**

**p.s. i'm getting so lazy with these disclaimers. x'D**

* * *

Aubrey had never overestimated her endurance against temptation. She'd been taught not to since her first experience with a Crocotta… the one that hadn't killed her father. But with Aiden, she had no idea why she was willing to throw all those lessons away. Nothing had ever made her so reckless before, except perhaps Castiel.

Yet there she sat on the foot of her bed, running her index finger up and down the sharp edges of Bobby's car keys. He was sure to be downstairs, either hitting the books or preparing lunch. During the hours Aubrey spent in the house for the past week, they'd been living entirely on fast food. Only when she went to the Bishop's house did she experience the slightest hint of real food, and that was when Greg wasn't busy. Aubrey expected that Bobby had to cook his own meals _sometimes_.

If a monster wasn't going to kill him first, a damn heart attack was.

Bobby really should know better, but Aubrey supposed that his health condition was lower down on the list of things she had to worry about. Number one was definitely Aiden. Number two was Cas. She didn't feel too bad about having the Winchester brothers down in number three; they could take care of themselves. Aiden couldn't. He could barely cook an omelette without dropping the egg shell onto the pan. Cas could (take care of himself, that is), but Aubrey wasn't too sure if he knew what he was doing, or what he was getting himself into. Angels weren't known for their skills in figuring out what was good and what they had to do to get what they wanted.

The longer Castiel spent away from humans, the easier that old habit of his came rooting itself back inside of him. Aubrey knew—she _knew_—that she, Sam and Dean had almost been able to uproot that damn weed. But then he just had to go running back to heaven. Aubrey didn't know when she'd be able to bring him back again, and that worried her.

In an instant, all her thoughts came back around to Aiden. What was he doing at that moment, as Aubrey sat in her room? She turned her head to look at the clock and found that it was around 11 in the morning. He was probably still at school; Aubrey recalled Greg telling her that he would always pick Aiden up from school at 12:30 in the afternoon. It was way too early in the day for her to go there and pay him a visit. Going to his school would attract too much unwanted attention. People would wonder who the hell she was, since they probably already met his mother. Maybe they'd think she was his older sister or something? (Although for all they knew, she could have been.)

She placed her elbows on her lap, running a hand across her face. She'd stayed up with Bobby the whole night last night, just trying to decipher some of the text in their self-named Purgatory Book. Bobby translated what he could (which weren't entire sentences), and Aubrey had done her best to fill in the blanks in-between. In the time span of thirteen hours, they'd finished exactly six-and-a-half pages—including the rather large spaces they'd left.

And it was a hopeless case because, just as Bobby had said before, there was nothing new. Just more of the same. They did glean, however, more facts about what someone could expect about Purgatory. Aubrey couldn't remember the exact words, but the main concept was simple: dark, cold, and very _huge_. It said in the book that if one was ever to find himself in Purgatory, he'd be left wandering the place for ages. Nothing would ever be what it was. Everything would be what it wasn't. (_Isn't that from Alice in Wonderland?_ Aubrey wondered, frowning; then with the thought of Alice in Wonderland came memories of her mother, and she pushed the thought away.)

Now, Aubrey didn't know about Purgatory being _cold_. The Purgatory she'd gone through was very different to what the Book described. It hadn't even been dark. She recalled it to be, in fact, filled with firelight.

"Maybe there's a separate Purgatory for humans," Aubrey had suggested to Bobby.

"Why didn't you see anyone else there, though?" he then asked her, raising an eyebrow. "I'm sure dozens of people could have died the same minute you did. Why didn't you see them?"

Aubrey frowned. "Maybe there's a separate Purgatory for _Phoenixes_, then."

Bobby had just grunted. They went back to work, wordlessly deciding to delay the conversation until Sam and Dean got back. Maybe then Cas would decide to stay longer.

Ultimately, Bobby had told her that they should rest when they could. "Get some sleep tonight. Tomorrow, we start all over again."

Which then brought her back to her original dilemma: a choice. To go to Aiden, or not to go? _That is the question,_ Aubrey mused inwardly, scowling as she heard Bobby let loose a string of curses from downstairs. It was loud, but then again, it wasn't exactly a rare occurrence when the old man started yelling profanities. Nevertheless, Aubrey stood up and trudged downstairs, pocketing the keys. Maybe she just needed a distraction; and Bobby's creative use of the word _balls_ was always a very good distraction.

She found him sitting in his study, a pile of books stacked in front of him, including the Purgatory Book. Beside the mound of bound pages was his laptop, frozen on a page. Aubrey was only close enough to make out the three words typed in bold across the top of the webpage. **"Angels in Theology,"** it said, piquing her curiosity even more. Behind the desk, Bobby had three fingers over his mouth and his elbow on the table, so he looked as if he'd just realized the word he yelled out and was repenting.

Aubrey knew better, of course. She strolled into the room and gave him a solid pat on the back before he could protest. "Doing some penance for the words we just said, aren't we?"

"This definitely ain't a joke, Aub," Bobby said. His fingers were still over his mouth so the words were a bit muffled, but Aubrey understood them just fine. "I found something."

Aubrey didn't need to be reprimanded twice. Easily schooling a serious expression onto her face, she leaned over the old man's shoulder. "What is it?" she asked, letting her eyes roam the unfamiliar emblems on the pages.

"We may not have translated much," he started, "but we're far enough, apparently. I was translating this pair of words here…" He pointed to a sentence in the middle of the second opened page. "'Course, I couldn't translate it _all_. But I did find one word that caught my attention."

"And why did it catch your attention?" inquired Aubrey, furrowing her eyebrows and trying to find the word he was pertaining to.

"Because it's the first time it was ever even _mentioned_ in this book." He tapped his index finger on the spot Aubrey had been eyeing very carefully, making her scowl.

"Stop with the suspense, Bobby," she said, sighing loudly. "What's the word?"

"It's not exactly a _word_…"

"A name, then?"

"Yep."

"Then what's the _name_?" Aubrey was getting agitated, now. Thankfully, Bobby decided to stop pushing her buttons at the right time.

"Remiel," he said, literally making Aubrey's heart skip a beat.

A memory flashed across her mind, making her freeze. Her senses went numb; in the real world, at least. In a fraction of a second, she wasn't with Bobby anymore. She wasn't in his house. She wasn't even in her own body anymore. She was blind; all she could feel was the heat, and searing pain. Only when these sensations imprinted themselves on her did she realize that she wasn't blind, but that she was staring into the white hot eyes of fire.

Flames danced across her skin, licking every bare part they could find. A strangled yell escaped Aubrey's mouth, but she could barely register that because, as soon as it came, the flames were gone. Not a single ember to be found. Aubrey tried to look down at herself, to find out if she'd died, that maybe her body had turned to ashes; but her head was locked in place. And so were her eyes. And what she was looking at was no longer fire, but a man.

Green eyes. That was the first and the last thing she saw before the agony hit her again like the tail of a whip, and she could see no more.

* * *

Bobby told her that she was out for at least 60 seconds. _At least_. Aubrey wasn't sure why she didn't trust his word on it, but she decided not to argue about that. To her, it had felt like three days.

"It's your wall, isn't it?" Bobby asked, making Aubrey raise her head. "It's cracking."

"Phoenixes don't have _walls_, Bobby," Aubrey retorted softly. "I know that now. I've been joking to myself, and to you guys. My Purgatory was never like Sam's hell. Phoenixes were never meant to die by means of a murder or a car accident. We're supposed to live on to old age and _then_ die, and then we go to Purgatory to be cleansed, before getting shoved back into the body of an infant, not even a fully grown fetus in its mother's womb yet."

Bobby frowned. "I kind of already knew that, but how does that explain the blackout you just had?"

"I died because Crowley's goon _killed_ me. I wasn't supposed to die then. That explains why I was resurrected in this body again." She waved a hand over herself, partly trying to make an impression, and partly trying to see if she wasn't on fire anymore. "And the blackouts and daydreaming is normal, apparently. I wouldn't have gotten them if I died as an old woman."

"And you're meanin' to tell me… that you got all this information from your _head_ in a _minute_?"

Aubrey's corner lip twitched up in a smile. "The info's a plus. The recollections aren't." Bobby opened his mouth to say something, maybe sympathize or just scold her for _expecting_ sympathy from him. She stated her question before he could do either, which was: "What was the name you mentioned earlier, the one you said was never mentioned in the book until now?"

Bobby looked at her with beady eyes, as if he expected her to pass out again even though he hadn't even said the name yet. "Remiel," he finally said after several seconds.

Thankfully, Aubrey didn't have another blackout. But a tingling sensation travelled all across her body, making her shiver. She'd heard that name before. Whether it was from the internet or something someone had said, that name was something important. It was probably related to Purgatory, since it was written in the Book that was a couple of centuries old.

"Remiel…" Aubrey muttered. The feel of it sliding off her tongue felt alien, but she _knew_ the name. The important question was: why did it sound so familiar?

Acting quickly, Aubrey took a large step away from Bobby and to his laptop, where she immediately opened a new tab and typed in the words _**Remiel**_ and _**Purgatory**_ on the search bar. Several page links popped up, but the one on top just might have been her definition of _perfect_:

**"Remiel, Angel of Purgatory**"

It looked like an unofficial page, something that a person could make at home easily if they had the right knowledge and patience. It was a plain-coloured page, with text typed in Times New Roman font and a picture of a burning feather on the upper left corner, right beside the page's title. In the first paragraphs of the page, there were three quotes from three very different sources. There was Neil Gaiman, a verse from Matthew, and C.S. Lewis.

C.S. Lewis' quote kind of hit closer to home than Aubrey would have expected.

_ "You mean to say I have been in Hell?"_

_ "Yes, though if you come out of it, you may call it Purgatory."_

That's what it said.

Aubrey skimmed over the paragraphs, only paying close attention to the important things, and what had highest possibilities to have been true. In two minutes and a half, she found out that Purgatory wasn't a place adjacent to Hell. It was _in_ Hell. If that were true, it had been right under Crowley's nose and Aubrey would have been allowed to brag about it to him.

Remiel, apparently, was an _Elohite_, a former Angel of Purity. He discovered that some humans in Hell were no longer stained with sin, and devoted himself to save the purified souls. Taking this path, he was later elevated to the rank Archangel. However, he remained the cleanser of those who went to Purgatory.

Behind her, Bobby breathed heavily as he leaned over her shoulder to read the text as well. When he was finished and satisfied, he sat back down on his chair and pursed his lips. "Well then—"

"I've met him before," Aubrey cut in, not being able to hold the overflow of information inside.

"What?" Bobby's eyebrows furrowed together. "Remiel?"

"Yes, Remiel. When I went to Purgatory, I saw him. He was the one who started the fire, I think."

Bobby blinked rapidly a few times in succession, turning his gaze from Aubrey to the laptop. "Either that's a very big coincidence, or the writer really knew what he was talking about."

"I vote on coincidence." There was no way the writer could have been another Phoenix. He (or she) couldn't have possibly been able to remember so many facts about Remiel only after one visit to Purgatory. Maybe he was a priest. Heck, he could have been the Pope for all Aubrey cared. But an Archangel said it himself: Aubrey and Aiden were the last of their kind.

"Well," Bobby started, puffing his cheeks out and letting out a long sigh. "Now we know why his name's in the Book. I bet it won't be showing again anytime soon, though."

"Why's that?"

"Like I said before, this book's a manual on how to find and open the doors to Purgatory. Something tells me Remiel ain't gonna be important when it comes to that concept."

Aubrey bit the inside of her lip in contemplation. "If this _Mother of All_ does decide to show, maybe Remiel could be a bit of a help in shoving her back in?"

Bobby only shrugged. "Maybe."

For a moment, Aubrey just stared at the picture of a burning feather, a look of contemplation on her face. "What do we do now?" she finally asked, turning to Bobby with a raised eyebrow.

"_We_ aren't doing anything," he said, standing up from his seat and firmly putting his hands on her shoulders. "_You_ are gonna sleep, just like I told you to." He started pushing Aubrey out of the room and directly to the staircase. "We'll get on the books again by 7."

"And you'll wake me up?"

He scoffed lightly. "Would you be able to do it yourself?"

"No."

"Get up there and sleep, Aub." Bobby shooed her away nonchalantly. "I'll do the same in a bit."

After a moment of hesitation, Aubrey shrugged. "If you say so." Smirking slightly, she turned away from him and started back up the staircase.

Her room was a tiny little thing, just exactly the right size for one person. It was a guest room, but considering that Bobby's house was connected to an auto-repair shop, she wondered _why_ there were even four guest rooms for her, Bobby, and the brothers to sleep in. Bobby must have gotten the place renovated a few years back, seeing as the boys didn't exactly have a house to sleep in aside from the Impala.

It was about eight square feet, including the wooden cabinet connected to the vintage-styled wall. In that cabinet was a few piles of clothing Aubrey had bothered to purchase, which were seven pairs of jeans, at least half a dozen blouses, four t-shirts, and seven _plaid_ shirts. Two glittering dresses hung at the very back of the cabinet. They'd cost Aubrey a considerate amount of money, but she only wore them during stakeouts with men that would have gotten her info on a monster, or a possible hunt. Otherwise, they remained there for months.

A few ways beside the cabinet was Aubrey's bed, which was five inches longer than her and three inches wider. It was comfortable though; cramped, but comfortable. Definitely better than sleeping on the backseat of the Impala while Sam and Dean snored up front.

By the left wall was a small window that gave Aubrey a perfect view of Bobby's backyard; which was, to say, several acres of land filled with rusted cars and beat-up pick-up trucks.

Aubrey plopped down onto the bed, one foot crossed over the other as she set her head down on her pillow. She laced her fingers together, letting them lay over her stomach. Her eyes stared up at the roof, giving her the perfect look of contemplation. But she wasn't thinking, and she'd saved herself the unfortunate event of worrying about Aiden, for once; it lurked somewhere in the back of her head, however, never leaving.

No, she wasn't pondering on anything. She was waiting.

Falling asleep was going to be impossible. Aubrey had decided that as soon as she took the first step up the stairs. And seeing as she wasn't going to sleep anyway, she might as well do something productive with her time.

Aubrey laid there and counted the seconds that passed, keeping her eyes on the ceiling and concentrating on the dark blotches that started appearing before her eyes because she wouldn't blink. _Blink_. The blotches disappeared; and after a few seconds more she would repeat the process.

Approximately seven hundred fifty-four seconds later, Aubrey heard footsteps coming from just outside her door. She quickly unraveled her blanket and pulled it over her head, turning sideways but keeping her head on the pillow. She didn't close her eyes.

The door creaked open. Aubrey's blanket was thin, and because of the little light that streamed through the window, she could see through it. Peeking below her eyelashes, she watched as Bobby poked his head into the room. He looked over at Aubrey with an expression she couldn't read, chuckled, and closed the door again.

More light footsteps, followed by the closing of a door. And this time, it wasn't Aubrey's.

She pushed the blanket away from her body and got to her feet. Keeping her steps light, Aubrey walked over to the door and opened it an inch. Once she found Bobby's bedroom door closed, she stepped outside, closing the door behind her. After waiting a few seconds more, just to make sure that he hadn't heard her, she started on her descent down the stairs, feeling giddy—like a fourteen year-old would feel after sneaking out of the house for the first time.

Of course, it wasn't Aubrey's first time.

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**don't forget to leave a review! ^^ what do you think? i'll be putting up the next chapter immediately after this, don't judge me.**


	28. Chapter 28

The house was quiet when Aubrey stepped onto the porch; quieter than she'd ever remembered it to be. Greg's car wasn't parked on the side of the road like Aubrey's; she guessed that he'd gone to pick Aiden up from school, since it was around 12:20 last time she'd checked her watch. She peeked through the front door's peephole, squinting so she could get a clear view into the house. Inside was about as empty as it could be compared to the front yard. There were no signs of movement anywhere.

Sighing, Aubrey took a step back and tried the door knob. Her heart dropped when she found that it was unlocked. Her hand unclenched, her mind going from organized to hyperactive. Why the hell was it unlocked? She placed her hand back onto the door knob and turned it, gently pushing it open. The door opened.

Aubrey stepped inside, taking in the familiar smell of lilac and freshly baked cookies that was always there whenever she visited. There weren't any signs of a break-in. Everything was where it should be. Rain drizzled outside, wetting the land and grass by the pavement. Inside the house, there weren't any muddy footprints except Aubrey's.

Greg had probably just forgotten to lock the door. Or at least, that was what Aubrey was hoping for. She took a turn down the main hall to the kitchen. On the table, she could vaguely make out a platter through the narrow slits of the plate cover. Maybe they were cookies (or pizza). Aubrey wondered if Greg could bake.

She went back out to the hallway and headed to the living room. The TV was off, and the pillows on the sofa were arranged as properly as they could have been. There weren't any dog ears on the corners of the carpet, and Aiden's toys were all inside their respective boxes.

She went to the bedrooms next. Greg had never told her to stay out of his room. But even so, she was reluctant, even though she'd practically been living with men all her life. And although she respected _his_ privacy, his step wife's? Not so much.

Down the hall was his room, and adjacent to their door was Aiden's. Again, it wasn't a very big house. Aubrey slowly turned the knob to Greg's room and pushed the door open a fraction of an inch. The scent of men's cologne filled her nose, exactly the same way Greg smelled. Every time he passed her by, she would always notice. And likewise, when she would pass by his room on her way to Aiden's, she'd always assume that he had a tub of his cologne in there or something. _Time to find out,_ she mused, smirking slightly as she stepped through the doorway.

If the smell from outside was overpowering, then inside would make even Dean dizzy.

Both the floor and walls were colored white, making the room look bleached. A beige-colored, king-sized bed was set in the middle of the room, complete with a comforter and two pairs of blankets folded above it. Beside that was a small table; only wide enough to accommodate a rather large Bible, and a small bottle of what Aubrey only assumed to be holy water. On top of the Bible were two rosaries, one colored black, and the other a shade of pink. Aubrey put the pieces together in her head, looking away.

At the foot of the bed was a grey carpet. A simple wooden cabinet stood in front of that, taller than anything else in the room. (Aubrey noticed that there was only one cabinet, but it was big, and she nearly gagged. _They shared a _cabinet_?_ It was a petty reason, but somehow the thought of a good guy like Greg keeping his clothes in the same place as _Lorraine's_… it made Aubrey's head twirl, and not in the good way.)

There was a dresser standing in one corner. Tools for make-up lay scattered all over the top, and a mirror was attached to the flat board. It must have been Lorraine's, since Aubrey was fairly sure that Greg didn't wear make-up. (Did he even need to?)

Nothing else accountable was in the room except for the book shelf that stood beside the dresser; although, it wasn't as much a book_shelf_ as it was three planks of wood painted white pinned horizontally to the wall. Among the dozens of books sitting on the planks, there was an Encyclopedia, a pencil holder, the whole Lord of the Rings series, two books of A Song of Ice and Fire, three books about marriage and raising children properly, Jane Eyre, Pride and Prejudice, and the classic To Kill A Mockingbird. Aubrey wondered which one of the two adults was interested in fantasy, and which one was interested in classics.

Since everything seemed to be in order, she turned and closed the door behind her. She took two shortened steps, and in a moment was standing in front of the door to Aiden's room. Without a moment's hesitation, she turned the knob and stepped into the room.

Like the master bedroom, the walls were bleached white. The floor, however, was a light shade of brown. Aiden's bed had a cream-colored frame with red sheets, two red pillows, and a blue comforter. He had a bedside table as well, but almost nothing was on it except for an alarm clock, a lamp, and a few stray toy cars. A single window hovered over the side of his bed, light grey curtains keeping the sunlight at bay. At the foot of his bed sat a small, black crate. Aubrey didn't need to open it to know what was inside: either a stack of soft towels, or his toy collection.

Grinning, Aubrey turned and left that room as well. What other rooms were left? She doubted that anyone could have been hiding in the one bathroom the Bishops had in the house; nevertheless, on her way back down the hall, she checked just in case. No one was inside, just the familiar minty aroma of air freshener. As she turned to close the door, a thought occurred to her about that one room she was yet to check.

Aiden's drawing room. The one with a child's handwritten sign on it, saying: "For Aiden only". Greg had told her that it was, in fact, Aiden's _creative_ room—or at least, that's what the child called it. Thinking nothing of it, Aubrey immediately took a sharp turn left and was soon standing directly in front of the drawing room.

The sign was nailed to the door, explaining why it hadn't fallen off after so long. The door itself was the same shade of brown as all the others in the house, but with quite a few extra… _designs_ on it. Designs placed there in crayon, by Aiden, obviously. Aubrey hesitated as she placed her hand on the knob, knowing that Aiden expected her to stay out of this particular room. He had always been very stern about it, but Aubrey could never take him seriously. What drawings did he have inside, a few doodles of cars and his favorite cartoons?

Aubrey couldn't have been more wrong.

As soon as she stepped into the room, her vision immediately swam with doodles of fire. Half the room was filled with papers taped to the walls that held only images of flame; orange, some red. A few were different, like one on the left side that depicted red wings. An isolated paper on the right that had more blue than orange, but it was fire nonetheless; the heart of the inferno.

Two green cushions were placed at the corner of the room, just beside a small bookshelf that held children's books. The center part of the floor was covered with Styrofoam, bubblegum-colored puzzle tiles. They were the only things that held a different source of color in the room.

Aubrey stared at the sketches in bewilderment. Either this boy had been to Purgatory and remembered, or he had a thing for fire.

But no, there was a single picture hanging limply on the center of the far wall, barely keeping from falling because for some reason, Aiden had only stuck one cut of tape onto it. It wasn't depicting fire, for once. In fact, there were more details on that particular drawing than Aubrey would have hoped. She strode towards it, snatching the tape dispenser off the book shelf and tearing off two cuts. As she stuck the tape onto two adjacent corners of the sketch, she inspected the drawing with wide eyes.

It showed a scene where everything was bright; the sky was a clear blue, no clouds to be found. The grass that covered the entirety of the ground in the drawing was yellow, like wheat during harvesting season. On the left side of the page, Aiden had drawn a rather large tree. Its trunk was wide and dark, its branches disappearing at the ends of the paper. Its leaves were gold; not yellow, but gold. Aubrey stared at it in wonder, knowing that it was the same tree she remembered.

It was official. Aiden was undoubtedly the boy Aubrey had met in Purgatory.

She then turned her gaze to the other side of the paper, where there was a depiction of a girl. Her heart faltered when she realized that it was _her_. Aiden had drawn _her_. The long blonde locks, the lightly tanned skin, the deep hazel eyes (the boy had drawn them bigger than they actually were so that Aubrey could see it clearly), the plaid shirt over a pair of jeans—it was unmistakably her standing in a parting of the golden grass.

_So he remembers,_ Aubrey thought grimly. _How much, though?_ Had he blacked out yet, just like what had happened to her not twenty-four hours ago? The idea of him crumpling to the ground in the middle of morning assembly was not something that Aubrey enjoyed, and so she pushed those thoughts aside, instead focusing on her task at hand: sweep the house (and not literally). She would confront Aiden about the drawings—and his memories—some other day.

No one was in the house though. Everywhere was clean… unless they had a second floor, but Aubrey was fairly sure that they didn't since there weren't any staircases to be found.

She was just about to conclude that Greg had just, _in fact_, forgotten to lock the door on his way out—when the doorbell rang.

Frowning, Aubrey glanced down at her watch, and found that not ten minutes had passed since she'd arrived. Surely the trip to Aiden's school and back hadn't taken Greg such little time?

"Back so soon, Greg?" Aubrey called to the door, still not looking up from her watch. No reply came. And, granted that it was possible that he hadn't heard her, she might have overreacted. She rushed to the door, swinging it open in a flurry. "Greg—"

Only then did she find that her overreaction might not have been such an invalid response. Because standing on the porch were the two people Aubrey _never_—in a million years—would have hoped to see within the same vicinity.

Balthazar hadn't aged a day, though Aubrey would have just assumed that angel-vessels didn't grow old. Castiel had already explained that to her. Balthazar had a pair of black pants on, with a grey shirt worn beneath his suit jacket. His hair was a mixture of salt-and-pepper fizzed with blond, just as Aubrey remembered. The clothes he had on could have been the same combination he wore the first time they met, for all Aubrey cared; most of her attention was on the boy standing beside him.

Aiden shivered at Balthazar's side, looking tiny compared to the towering figure of the angel. This time, he had a pair of khaki shorts on topped with a red t-shirt. Despite his seemingly thick hoodie, the child was dripping rainwater all over the cement porch; unlike Balthazar, who was very much dry. Aiden held a terrified expression on his face, quaking visibly beneath the angel's arm.

"Phoenix," Balthazar said, his lip quirking upward in a smile. "We meet again."

Aubrey immediately turned hostile. "What are you doing here?" She tried to hide her fear behind a mask of aggression, but couldn't help but to flick her eyes over to Aiden. He was still shaking.

Unfortunately, Balthazar noticed this brief little exchange, and raised an eyebrow. "Oh, don't worry," he said. "I won't kill him. I don't have to."

Beside him, the boy flinched visibly. "Jenna…" Aiden whimpered, his face contorting into one of great panic. Balthazar had his arm around the boy's shoulders; from the corner of her eye, Aubrey saw his hand tighten its grip on Aiden's shoulder.

She growled inwardly.

In a desperate move to get Aiden out of the danger zone, Aubrey held her hand out in a receiving gesture. She didn't look away from Balthazar's taunting eyes, glaring at him through her eyelashes. The hand was for Aiden to take, but she knew that he was afraid. She only hoped that he got the message, that she had his back.

Seconds passed. Aubrey wasn't sure how many. She focused on keeping the rebel angel's gaze away from Aiden. He was an _angel_ though… was it even working?

After half a minute or so, the arm that was around the boy's shoulders disappeared. "Alright," Balthazar said, sighing. Aiden scurried away from his side and into Aubrey waiting arms, where he buried his face into her stomach. A slight dampness appeared from where his eyes touched her blouse, but Aubrey couldn't tell if it were tears or raindrops that had clung onto his face.

"Honestly, I have no idea why children are so afraid of me." Balthazar's voice dropped with sarcasm. "I've done nothing wrong!"

"You plucked him out of class and dragged him back here, _in the rain_." After that single burst of anger, Aubrey felt more afraid than confident; and though she was determined to protect Aiden, Balthazar would beat her easily in a fight. He had heaven's weapons; Aubrey had Powers she didn't how to use yet. All she knew how to do was heat a damn tub of water.

Balthazar waved his hand indifferently. "They'd already been dismissed anyway. I was just offering to bring him home." (Aubrey made a mental note to get Bobby to sue Aiden's school.) "His father was taking quite some time—"

"You couldn't afford an umbrella?" Aubrey cut in, snarling slightly.

"We flew here," the angel replied casually. "An umbrella would have just hit someone in the face and given them a concussion."

_No wonder he looks so terrified,_ Aubrey thought, glancing down at the boy hugging her abdomen. Memories of her first time teleporting (flying?) with Cas came to mind, and she silently sympathized with Aiden. She praised him for keeping his lunch down.

"Aiden," she cooed to the child, squatting so that they were eye to eye. "Go to your room, okay? Get into some dry clothes. I'll deal with this." On the porch, Balthazar hummed, about to say something but Aubrey threw him her most intimidating glare—given the circumstances. Some part of her hoped he wouldn't smite her for such defiance. In the end, however, he just smirked.

Aiden sniffled in front of her. "Jenna," he said in a small voice. "I thought you weren't gonna come for a long time..." He stopped, and then started sobbing. "I'm scared—"

"Just go to your room, alright?" She ruffled his hair, straightened up, and gently turned him away. "And lock the door."

She watched as he disappeared down the hall, thankful that he hadn't questioned her. A few seconds after he turned the corner, there was an (almost) inaudible click. Aubrey waited a few moments more before turning back around to face the slightly homicidal angel standing on the porch.

He grinned. "I don't recall _Jenna_ being your real name."

"It's not," Aubrey muttered in response, scowling deeply. She crossed her arms, hoping it would stop her hands from shaking. There was a positively powerful and arrogant angel standing in front of her, who so happened to arbor several heavenly weapons. What was she supposed to feel?

"Would you care to tell me what it is then?" the angel then asked, to which Aubrey set her jaw and raised her chin defiantly. Balthazar made a _tsk tsk_ sound with his tongue. "Come now, Aubrey,"—she steeled her gaze—"Won't you make this easier for me?"

Uncertainty flared across her chest, and she struggled to keep a straight face. "That depends," Aubrey said, looking for the slightest hint of malice in his eyes. "Why are you here?"

Balthazar stepped through the doorway and into the house, forcing Aubrey to take a step back. "I'm quite surprised our mutual friend Castiel hasn't reported to you yet. He's very fond of you, if you don't know already." Aubrey's glare faltered, and the angel smirked. "But no matter. Down to business then." He clapped his hands together. "Crowley's been looking for you—you and the boy."

Aubrey scoffed, but didn't dare roll her eyes… yet. "Haven't you been keeping up with the news? Cas turned him to ashes the day they broke me out of his house of horrors."

"Haven't _you_ been keeping up with the news?" retorted the angel. "Crowley's still kicking. He went and enhanced this _house of horrors_ of his somewhere else. But mind you, he's alive. Very much so."

"That's stupid," Aubrey said, but her voice had turned into a croak. Fear rippled through her chest and it was all she could do not to panic immediately. "If he was still alive, he'd have found Aiden and me by now. I'm sure of that."

Balthazar strutted through the hall as if he owned it. He turned and picked up a picture frame from a table by the side, looking at it for a moment before setting it down again with a bored roll of his eyes. "Maybe he's got more problems to deal with than trying to pin you down."

"He wants Purgatory, and he's convinced that Phoenixes know the way back—which we _don't_. I barely remember the place at all; how could Aiden?" She glanced worriedly down the hall, looking past the angel and to where the boy's room would have been.

"It could just be because he's stupid." Balthazar shrugged. "But I highly doubt that. Anyway, you won't have to worry about him for a while. I didn't come here to chat with you about the King of Hell."

Aubrey crossed her arms, frowning slightly. How did he mean _'for a while'_? Like, for a year a-while? She sincerely hoped so. "What is it you wanted to talk about then?"

The angel stopped fretting with the objects in the house and turned to face her. "It's about the Mother," he said.

"Mother," Aubrey repeated, raising an eyebrow. "As in, capital-_M_ mother? The Mother of All, the one that _dragons_ apparently raised from Purgatory? That one?"

"Stop babbling," Balthazar complained, a very slight, but dangerous bite in his tone. "But yes, that one. I came to tell you that she's not _apparently_ out. She's _out_." At the dazed expression on Aubrey's face, his smile widened.

She blinked, trying to snap out of her stupor. "You're sure?"

"I'm sure."

Millions of thought swirled around in her head, but she tried to focus. "Well, where is she?"

"That, sadly, I cannot tell you," Balthazar replied casually, walking back to stand by the doorway.

"Can't or won't?" asked Aubrey sharply.

The angel's eyes blazed for a moment, and that was enough to make her reel her anger back in. He smiled slightly and said, "Can't. Why? Because I honestly don't know myself."

"Then how can you be sure that she's out?" asked Aubrey. She started hearing the low purr of an engine, and she looked over his shoulder just in time to see Greg's Prius stop in the driveway.

"Alas," Balthazar said, clapping his hands in conclusiveness. "I wish I could tell you more, but that"—he pointed over his shoulder to the newly-parked car—"is my cue." The angel turned to leave, but stopped just as he reached the front steps. "Oh, and Aubrey?" She looked at him expectantly. "I suggest you keep your eyes peeled. Neighborhoods are never this quiet."

His words made her stomach drop. Before she could ask him what he meant—before she could even _blink_, in fact—he had disappeared. Replacing him was Greg, who rushed through the wet lawn and up the steps to meet her by the doorway.

"Jenna!" he exclaimed, seeming to be out of breath. "How'd you get in?"

"The door was unlocked," muttered Aubrey, gesturing lamely to the door. Her thoughts were still elsewhere—namely, on the Mother of All walking around in stilettos—but she tried to put on her best straight face.

"Why are you here anyway? I thought you were busy for work."

She smiled nervously. "Just couldn't stay away, I guess."

Greg laughed, but it sounded half-hearted. "Is Aiden here?" he said. "I went to his school to pick him up and his teacher said someone had been there already. I got worried and thought that maybe—"

"Oh, sorry about that. Yeah, I picked him up," Aubrey lied easily, schooling on a tight smile. "He's in his room."

Greg released a relieved sigh. His shoulders sagged forward, and he laughed slightly. "You couldn't have given me a call to tell me?"

"I'm sorry. It must've slipped my mind."

"It's fine," he replied. Aubrey stepped to the side to let him in, and closed the door behind her. His hair was slightly wet from the drizzle, but not so much as Aiden had been minutes ago. "Who was that you were talking to anyway?" asked Greg, disappearing into the kitchen as he took his jacket off. "Someone from the neighborhood?"

_"Neighborhoods are never this quiet."_ Aubrey remembered the angel's words so easily that they might have been seared into the back of her mind.

When Greg poked his head out the doorway of the kitchen with a curious look on his face, she slapped on an easygoing expression and said, "Just an old friend." _A very, very old friend._

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	29. Chapter 29

**I OWN NOTHING YOU RECOGNIZE, ONLY AUBREY. SHE**'**S MINE. ****SHE**'**S GOING THROUGH A ROUGH TIME RIGHT NOW.**

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Aiden sat in the living room, staring at the TV. They were replaying old episodes of Tom and Jerry, and apparently it was Aiden's favorite show. In each episode, either Tom or Jerry was dead… Or, were _supposed_ to be dead. A hammer on the head or a lawnmower running them over should have done it, but they just kept coming back. Aubrey watched from the kitchen table as she was reminded of Sam and Dean. It was ironic.

"Screw fate," Dean always said.

And Aubrey would always reply, "No thank you," but she agreed with him all the way. _Team Free Will_, they liked to call their little hunting-group. Bobby had gotten a smile on his face the first time Dean had ever said it, but Aubrey hadn't been with them that time. She'd been hunting a Changeling in New Mexico, but they mentioned it to her eventually.

Greg sat across from her on the table, a notebook in front of him and a pen in his hand. He had that look on his face that made it look like he was concentrating but suggested otherwise. The corner of Aubrey's lip turned up in a smile, and she put her mug down.

"So what's the job?" she asked.

Greg raised his eyes from the notebook and looked at her. "I'm a journalist," he said calmly.

"You're working on a story?" Aubrey leaned forward in interest. Greg bobbed his head once, and she said, "About?"

"Well," Greg started lamely, taking a sip of his beer. "There have been these disappearances at Bristol. Rhode Island?" Aubrey nodded in recognition. "Three missing women in the last week. Looked interesting, and I haven't gotten a job like this in months. As a Christian, I take what I can get."

His words struck Aubrey like a slap to the face. "So?" she said. She hoped her voice didn't sound too nervous. Greg raised his eyebrow at her, and she waved him off. "I mean, there are serial killers all the time. The police are probably on it right now."

"Yeah, but journalists don't care about that, Jenna."

She rolled her eyes. "_I know_."

He laughed, making Aiden turn his head to look at them from the living room couch. The boy raised an eyebrow, an imploring look on his face. Aubrey threw him a large grin, one he returned, before switching her attention back to Greg. She found that he'd been staring (_Again?_) with the same glint in his eye that she'd only seen thrice before.

She was about to ask what the matter was when he suddenly said, "He missed you."

Aubrey's heart clenched, but she chuckled lightly nonetheless. "He didn't see me for two days. I doubt he missed me _that_ much."

"He missed you _so_ much."

"Ha ha," Aubrey teased; but he sounded very serious about it. When it became obvious that he wasn't going to drop the subject on his own, she cleared her throat. "So—Bristol. Missing women, cops are on the case, you're interested… Don't women go missing all the time? I mean, with the hormone-filled desperate teenagers these days, it wouldn't surprise me if they'd just snatch a girl from the street. And I'm not saying that it's not _wrong_, I just mean—"

"Yeah, no, but get this," Greg interrupted her, but by the smile on his face, Aubrey could guess that he was amused by her recent bantering. He put his pen down. "About a year ago, there was a spike of disappearances too, but it was men. Same town, same neighborhood, same instances, just a different motive. Don't you think that's strange?"

Aubrey frowned. "It's mysterious alright." _It's a damn case,_ she thought grumpily. _The one Sam and Dean are on right now._ A thought occurred to her, though, and the crease in her brow deepened. "Do journalists go to the field?" she asked.

"Yeah, I was planning on going there tomorrow." Greg wasn't even looking at her anymore, but was scribbling something on his notebook. "But I haven't found a sitter for Aiden yet, so I might have to delay for a few—"

"No!"

The word had left her mouth before she could stop herself, and instant guilt spread over her like wildfire on the savannah. Guilt for stopping him from chasing down the best case he'd found in a long time? No. Guilt for possibly screwing her entire undercover operation over? Yes.

Greg stared at her with wide, confused eyes. Behind the confusion, there might have been a speck of amusement, but it was too tiny for Aubrey to see in her position. She cleared her throat again. Beneath the table, she rubbed her hands together while she racked her brain for a plausible excuse.

"What I—I meant was," she stammered. "I bet there's no connection between the disappearances. I mean, what, it's been a year since the last time it happened. Why would someone wait a year before starting over again, and this time, with a totally different M.O.?"

She hoped her statement was believable enough, but even to her own ears, she sounded like a complete wacko. Greg had both eyebrows raised; and his lower lip was quivering. He looked like he was about to cry, but Aubrey saw no reason why he would. Then he started laughing, and it felt like she'd become Atlas in the previous few seconds and the gods had finally lifted the weight of the world off her shoulders.

As he laughed, Aiden rushed through the doorway into the kitchen and jumped onto Greg's lap. He crossed his arms. "Are you making fun of me?" he demanded with a pout on his face.

Greg ruffled his hair affectionately, his shoulders still shaking with laughter. "We're not making fun of _you_, kiddo," he told the boy. "Jenna just said something funny."

If Aubrey thought about it, she hadn't sounded funny but had sounded utterly desperate. But if that was how he saw it, then it was to her benefit; he wasn't suspicious.

"Something funny about what?" asked Aiden, uncrossing his arms. There was a sparkle of curiosity in his eyes, now, and Aubrey smirked at how similar he was to his father.

"About your daddy's job," she replied, sending Greg a teasing look from across the table. He grinned, opening his mouth to say something but Aiden beat him to the punch.

"You write stories on the newspaper, don't you, dad?" the boy said, looking up at Greg with his big, brown eyes.

His father chuckled. "Yeah, but you don't read 'em anyway."

"Newspapers are boring!" said Aiden. "And they smell funny," he added after a moment, wrinkling his nose.

Aubrey grinned. "I agree with you on that one."

There were a few moments of silence. From the corner of her eye, she started a staring contest with Greg. It was hard for her to not blink, considering that the air was rather cold that afternoon because of the rain and her eyes were becoming dry. A thin sheet of tears appeared, but from where she sat, she saw the same thing was happening with her competitor as well. A smile inched its way up her mouth. Just as she was going to stop the contest then and there, to halt their misery, Aiden jumped from his spot by the doorway and to Greg, digging his fingers into his father's sides.

Greg's eyes screwed shut as giggles sprang from his mouth. He tried pushing Aiden away (gently), but the boy was driven. Aiden had found his way behind Greg's chair and was tickling him from there, making it impossible for him to be pushed away.

The time finally came when Greg just sprang up from his seat. In doing so, his foot hit the leg of the table. Aubrey's mug toppled and spilled the coffee all over the top of the table. Aubrey was barely able to get off her seat without getting the dark liquid on her clothes. Aiden took a small step back, his eyes wide; Greg stopped laughing.

"Oh, sh—" He stopped himself just in time. "Jenna, I am so sorry. Let me fix that—"

"It's fine." Aubrey laughed slightly, brushing herself off even though nothing was on her. She just wanted something to do with her hands. "Honestly, I don't mind. It's your house anyway. Just make sure it doesn't start dripping off the edge…" She trailed off, watching as Greg rushed to the cupboard beneath the sink to get a towel. He was soaking it in tap water when the doorbell rang.

Immediately, he dropped the towel and turned to answer it himself, but Aubrey was already walking down the hall. She looked at him over her shoulder, saying, "I got it." He might have smiled, but it was hard to know for sure from the distance she'd put between them.

Her footsteps echoed lightly down the hallway as she quickened her pace. The person on the porch kept ringing the doorbell over and over again. He (or she) must have been in a rush to see Greg or Aiden or whomever. Perhaps it was the mailman; but at the back of her mind, Aubrey pondered on the possibility of it being Bobby on the other side of the door. It couldn't have been Sam or Dean; they were on a case. Why would Bobby drop by though?

Thoughts such as these swirled around in her head like a mini tornado, but it stopped abruptly when she turned the knob on the door and pulled, revealing Greg's girlfriend and Aiden's possible soon-to-be stepmother—Lorraine.

The wide smile on her face surprised Aubrey, leaving her standing there like a fool with her mouth slightly open. Wasn't she surprised to find Aubrey in the house? Aubrey was certainly startled herself to find Lorraine come home so early. Greg had told her that, during weekdays, Lorraine usually came home late.

"Lorraine," she managed to say, though it sounded like a question.

"Hello, Jenna," the woman replied cheerily; somewhat _too_ cheerily…

From the kitchen, Greg called out: "Who is it, Jenna?"

"Jenna…" Lorraine smiled in front of her, sending a shudder through Aubrey at how cold it was—much more so than the others. "Is that even your real name?" the woman said, and Aubrey's heart faltered.

All at once, the air around them seemed to drop twenty degrees, making the afternoon colder than it already was. For a split second, Aubrey could actually see her breath as mist in front of her. Goosebumps erupted up and down her arms, and a shiver ran down her spine. The eerily familiar scent of sulfur reached her nose. In front of her, the color of pure darkness clouded over Lorraine's eyes.

Behind them, Greg yelled again, followed by Aiden; but they both said the same thing: "Jenna?"

Lorraine grinned, and this time, it was completely filled with malice. "Found you," she said; her voice devoid of any emotion. "Crowley will be so pleased."

Before she could say more, Aubrey's hunter instincts kicked in. She threw a punch, and apparently Lorraine hadn't been expecting this. Aubrey's knuckle collided with the demon's nose, and she staggered back. Before she could regain her footing, Aubrey kicked her jaw and sent her sprawling onto the muddy lawn outside.

Aubrey slammed the door shut and locked it. From the kitchen, she heard the sound of a chair being dragged across the floor. Greg appeared from the doorway, followed quickly by Aiden.

"Jenna?" Greg said, walking briskly down the hallway with a confused expression. "What's—"

Lorraine's voice cut him off. "If you don't let me in by the time I reach zero, I'll kill the human," she said in a sing-songy tone. "Crowley couldn't care less if I did, but I'll be generous." There was a pause. "Five…"

Aubrey started pushing Greg and Aiden back down the hallway, but he fought her. "Is that… Lorraine?" he said, struggling against her hold. She gripped Aiden by the elbow, tighter than was necessary but considering the circumstances, both he and his father were lucky that she didn't just throw them over her shoulders and run deeper into the house.

Greg stared over her shoulder. "What'd she mean—?"

"Four…" Through the door, Aubrey could hear demon-Lorraine tapping at the wood.

"Greg, where do you keep some holy water?" Aubrey demanded, pushing him harder, now.

He frowned deeply. "In my room, by the altar. Jenna, what's—"

"Do you have any rock salt?" They were by the kitchen doorway, and from the corner of her eye, she saw the salt sprinkler waiting on the table. _That won't be enough…_

"In the cupboard beneath the sink—"

Aubrey ran into the kitchen. She slid to a stop in front of the sink and hauled open the cupboard. Beside a few crates of dishwashing liquids and towels was a large white bag labeled _ROCK SALT_. Aubrey heaved it into her arms and ripped the top away using her teeth. Her gums might have gotten cut, but she wouldn't have noticed. As she stood up, she snatched a knife from the countertop.

From the porch, Lorraine's voice came again. "Three…"

Aubrey pushed the bag of salt into Greg's arms, and Aiden the knife. She pointed down the hall, her eyes wild, but determined. "Run to the drawing room. Make a line of salt outside and inside the door. And goddamn, please make it thick. If anyone but me gets inside, stab it. And—"

"Jenna, what the _hell_ is going on?" Greg yelled. Behind him, Aiden was staring down at the knife as if it was covered in pixie dust. Aubrey looked at it as well, wondering whether she'd have time to draw a Devil's Trap or not. Lorraine was already on three; Aubrey decided that making a Devil's Trap and concealing it under more or less two seconds was impossible.

"You're being hunted, Greg," she told Greg in a harsh whisper. "That _thing_ outside your door is going to _kill_ you, _and_ take Aiden and me as hostages."

"What—"

"So _shut the hell up_, and take your kid to the drawing room." She shoved him down the hall, but made sure that he didn't trip over his own feet. Aiden wasn't holding the knife right. "I'll get there as soon as I can."

"Two…" said Lorraine from outside. Her tapping was getting louder.

Aiden sniffled, and tears sprung forth from his eyes. The knife in his tiny hands shook. "Jenna…"

"That's not my name," Aubrey said gently, her eyes softening up as she looked at him. He and Greg were standing by the crossroads of the hallway, now; they just needed to take a turn to get to the drawing room. In front of the boy, Greg's face was filled with panic. Aubrey glanced at him with pleading eyes. "Please, you have to trust me."

Both of them were silent for a while; to Aubrey, it felt like hours, but not even a minute had passed. She looked at Greg imploringly, her eyes shifting from him to the door; she was the only one that stood in-between him and the demon that was bent on killing him and taking Aiden. Lorraine's taps had gained speed, and Aubrey could imagine her polished nails denting the wooden door.

Finally, Greg turned around. He looped his hand through Aiden's arm and led him to the drawing room.

"One…" Lorraine raised her voice.

The sound of salt being sprinkled on the floor echoed down the hall. By the sound of it, Greg was doing as she'd told him—to make the salt line thick. The sickeningly sweet music only lasted for a few seconds, before it was replaced by the sound of a door closing. Aubrey imagined Greg sprinkling salt on the other side of the door as well, just to reassure herself.

She rushed back into the kitchen and grabbed the water dispenser off the countertop. It was heavy, but the adrenaline had already kicked in. As she was running down the hall and to Greg's room, the tapping on the front door behind her stopped.

"_Zero_…"

The door came loose from its hinges; or, at least, that was what Aubrey gathered from her spot inside Greg's room. She placed the dispenser on the floor and screwed the top off, her other hand snatching one of the rosaries from the altar. Outside, there were footsteps.

"Hiding, are we?" said Lorraine. Her footfalls were slow, and calculated.

Aubrey discerned that she was still in the main hall. She held the rosary over the gallon of water, muttering the incantation she needed: "_Exorcizo te, creatura aquae. In nomine dei patris omnipotentis et in virtute spiritus sancti._" The foreign words rolled off her tongue like syrup; she'd done it many times before, and she was thankful that Dean had introduced to her the shorter version only a few months ago.

She dropped the rosary into the water. Nothing changed with the clear liquid, but Aubrey was positive that the spell worked.

Meanwhile, Lorraine's footsteps had gotten closer. Thankfully, however, she was patient as she was "generous". Her pace remained slow. She was humming though; a melody Aubrey could vaguely make out behind the loud beating of her heart in her ears.

She pulled a blanket off the bed and rolled it into what resembled a rope. The water dispenser was heavy in her hands as she doused the make-shift rope with the holy water. She did this until the blanket was soaked to the bottom. Holy water flowed from its place beneath the rope and travelled to the door, which Aubrey had intentionally left open.

As she turned around, blanket-rope in hand, Aubrey found herself face to face with demon-Lorraine.

Lorraine grinned and tilted her head. "Watya got there?"

"Sheets chock full of holy water."

Not another word could escape from either of their mouths before Aubrey had whipped her make-shift rope around the demon's neck. Steam curled in wisps from where the holy water touched her skin, and Lorraine screamed.

"You're either incredibly stupid or you're new here." Aubrey sneered. "Hi, I'm Aubrey, professional hunter, and a demon's worst nightmare."

She tightened the rope around Lorraine's neck, and watched with cold eyes as the demon collapsed to the ground, writhing in pain. "Tell me," growled Aubrey. "Does anyone know you're here?"

"No… I came—alone." Lorraine's voice came out raspy, and Aubrey only barely made out what she'd said. "Please—"

"Don't beg. It's unbecoming." Aubrey glared down at the demon, deliberating if it was lying or not. If it indeed had brought back-up, then they should have arrived by then. Demon-Lorraine wasn't lying. _That's a first._

But she also wondered whether Lorraine was still alive, inside there somewhere. She also wondered whether Greg would approve of her killing the woman he supposedly loved or not. Hesitantly, she loosened the rope around the demon's neck the slightest bit. Her eyes remained stony. "Do you know how Crowley's still alive?"

Lorraine gasped for air. The holy water continued doing its job, but for safety reasons, Aubrey picked up the gallon and spilled a large amount onto the demon's face. Lorraine wailed. "We—don't know! He won't t-tell us!"

Aubrey rolled her eyes. "Can you tell me _anything_?"

"He isn't w-working alone," said Lorraine. She tried to pull the make-shift rope off her neck, making Aubrey tighten it again. "S-someone's helping h-him."

"Do you have a name?"

"No."

"Do you know what he looks like?"

"N-no. But—"

"Then I don't need you anymore." Aubrey once more spilled holy water onto Lorraine's face, stopping her pleads. Aubrey knew Lorraine—the _human_ Lorraine, the one who might still have been alive inside—wouldn't hold out for much longer if she continued to delay. Aubrey held her hand out to the demon in a warding-off gesture and started chanting.

"_Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas…"_ She frowned down at Lorraine, who screamed. The neighbors would call the police soon; she was sure about that. She started chanting faster."_Omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis congregatio et Secta Diabolica."_ Down the hall, there was the faint sound of a boy crying. Aubrey's heart clenched."_Ergo, draco maledicte, ut ecclesiam tuam secura, tibi facias libertate servire, te Rogamus, audi nos!_"

The scream died down in Lorraine's throat as a thick cloud of black smoke billowed out from her mouth. It went on and on and on, circling above their heads like a storm cloud. It was already all the way out and Lorraine had crumpled to the floor, seemingly lifeless. Aubrey sprinkled holy water at the black smoke and there was hissing sound.

"_ABESTO!_" yelled Aubrey. "_ABESTO, MALO SPIRITU!_"

The demon screeched; Aubrey didn't even know they could do that in their smoke forms. A split second afterward, it flew down the hall and out the door.

* * *

**Things are heating up, you guys~~**


	30. Chapter 30

Aubrey was barely able to haul Greg and Aiden out of the house before the police showed up.

They wouldn't let her touch them. Aiden clung to Greg's side as she coaxed them out of the drawing room. The two salt lines beneath her feet were as thick as her arm, and she smiled slightly. "I'm here to help you," she was saying, over and over again. Greg stared at her, a contemplative look in his eye, while Aiden had buried his face into his father's shirt. The boy was whimpering; he always made himself out to be a strong person whenever Aubrey was around, but it was so different now. Aubrey's heart clenched and she looked at Greg imploringly.

"Just trust me on this," she told him. "I know what I'm doing."

He stared at her for a few more seconds before gently pulling Aiden off of him. Greg knelt in front of the boy and stroked his face, and Aubrey looked away to give them some privacy. However, she could hear Greg murmuring, and she couldn't help but to wonder if they were going to cooperate or not.

As she slowly started walking down the hall, his shaky voice reached her ears. "Where's Lorraine?" he said, and Aubrey frowned.

"Follow me."

The sound of their light footsteps followed her back to Greg's room, where Lorraine was still lying on the floor with a puddle of holy water beneath her. Her eyes were closed, but even from where Aubrey stood, she could see the woman's chest rise and fall. Behind Aubrey, Aiden abruptly stopped sniffling; she didn't turn around to find out why. They'd overspent their stay already.

She knelt beside the unconscious body of Lorraine and gathered her into her arms. Aubrey grunted in exertion, but otherwise got to her feet. Turning around, she found Greg staring at her with uncertain eyes.

"We're taking her with us," said Aubrey, softening her gaze slightly. "Come on."

She led them back to the main hall, running now, because her hunter's instincts had already calculated how much time they had before the cops showed up; and if her calculations were correct, it wasn't going to be much longer until they did.

Greg and Aiden trailed behind her slowly as she ran out of the house and to her car; thankfully, she had had the sense to park it just in front of the lawn. She unlocked the doors and set Lorraine down on the backseat, making it so that she was in a sitting position, and Greg and Aiden still had space.

When she turned around to see if they were still following, she saw one of their neighbors looking out the window at them. Aubrey cursed inwardly; she hoped that it looked like she was taking Lorraine to the hospital because of a seizure or something—hence the screaming—and _not_ like she'd just taken a family hostage. They would've called 911 either way, so Aubrey didn't ponder on it too much.

Greg and Aiden filed in after Lorraine, still dazed, but Aubrey was satisfied that they hadn't fought with her as much as she was used to. Most of the time, people who were brought into hunter's messes screamed and kicked and threatened to call the cops on them. Aubrey had much to be thankful about.

She got into the driver's seat, did a quick scan of their surroundings—to make sure no one was following. Aside from the neighbor who was _still_ peeking out her window, there was no one. Aubrey turned the ignition on and drove off.

It was lucky that Bobby's house was just a few miles away. But even in that short distance, Aubrey could feel the tension in the car start to fade. The boys sitting at the backseat were as quiet as ever, save for the sniffles that escaped Aiden now and again. Greg held the boy against him, practically enveloping him with his strong arms like a cocoon. Aiden shook anyway.

It had started raining again. Aubrey turned up the heat in hopes that it would make Aiden stop shaking. And he did—a little bit.

Aubrey glanced at the rear view mirror and found Greg's eyes on her; but they weren't cold, or hateful, or stony. They were fearful. Like a raccoon caught in a trap. Of course, Aubrey knew that it was _she_ that he and Aiden were afraid of. Back at the house, she'd handed them a bag of rock salt and a knife and told them to lock themselves in a room until she said it was safe. They probably heard Lorraine screaming as well, trying to answer Aubrey's questions while she was practically being burned alive.

They probably thought Aubrey was some kind of serial killer. Either that or they just thought she was dangerous _and_ demented. This was exactly what Aubrey hadn't been hoping for when she decided to become the Bishop's guardian. She hoped she'd be able to keep a low profile, keep them out of her hunter business, save their innocence—their _lives_ from being polluted by problems with monsters and demons and hell. But what happened? She got them right smack in the middle of it, with a demon possessing mother-dearest.

To try and take her mind off it (and possibly Greg's and Aiden's as well), she turned on the radio and turned the music up. An unfamiliar song came on; Aubrey frowned as she tried to remember whether she'd heard it in one of Sam and Dean's albums before.

_"Sing me a song; you're a singer."_ It was one of those classic rock songs with that stereotypical vocalist with the raspy, oldies voice. _"Do me a wrong; you're a bringer of evil."_ Aubrey frowned. _"The Devil is never a maker." They got that part right,_ she thought. _"The less that you give; you're a taker. So it's on, and on, and on. It's heaven and hell! Oh, well!"_

Aubrey frowned; she took a left, and her mind started deciphering just exactly what the song was about.

_"The lover of life's not a sinner. The ending is just a beginner." _Aubrey couldn't help but to let her eyes flicker to the rear view mirror. Greg had stopped staring at her, now, and was looking out the car's windows. Aiden had stopped crying, and he did the same as his father. They were probably trying to figure out where she was taking them. _"The closer you get to the meaning, the sooner you'll know that you're dreaming."_ Did _they_ think they were dreaming?

_"So it's on, and on, and on… Oh, it's on, and on, and on… It goes on, and on, and on! Heaven and hell!"_ Aubrey rolled her eyes. _"I can tell! Fool, fool—"_

She changed the station, and the eerily all-too-familiar lyrics of the old rock song were replaced by Howie Day's "Collide". Aubrey smiled in contentment, and turned her attention back on the road. She let all other thoughts be drowned out by the chill guitar chords the song played in her ears. Behind her, Greg shifted in his seat. Aubrey could once more feel his eyes on her, but it disappeared as soon as it came. She didn't bother to look at him.

They were only a few streets away from Bobby's house, now. Aubrey turned the radio off and unstrapped herself from her seatbelt. Behind her, a whimper escaped Aiden's mouth, and she sighed softly.

"Don't worry, guys," she said. "This is a friend's house. He won't hurt you."

_I won't hurt you,_ she added in her head, frowning slightly as Aiden nuzzled deeper into Greg's side.

The familiar blue exterior of Bobby's house came into view. Aubrey pulled up in front of it, beside Bobby's cleaner pick-up truck. The piles of destroyed cars cast a shadow over them, only further clarifying the darkness of the rain clouds above them.

"Wait here," Aubrey muttered to Greg and Aiden. She honked thrice in succession before getting out of the car. Rain immediately soaked through her clothes, chilling her to the bone. A strong breeze drifted by, and she shivered. The door to the house opened, revealing a surprised Bobby.

"Aubrey?" he said, staying on the porch where there was a yard of roof above his head. "I thought you were upstairs! What are you—" He must have caught sight of Lorraine's head leaning against the backseat window, because his eyes widened. "Who the hell is she?"

"Lorraine," replied Aubrey. She briskly walked up the porch steps and grabbed two umbrellas from the rack, handing one to Bobby. "We got attacked, Bobby. She was possessed." She opened her umbrella and rushed back to her car, vaguely aware that Bobby was trailing behind her judging from the heavy footfalls.

He made a disgruntled sound from the back of his throat. "I still don't get why you'd bring her here though—"

Then Aubrey opened the car door, revealing Greg and Aiden and barely being able to keep Lorraine from falling face-first into the mud. She struggled with keeping the woman upright as Bobby stared at the boys in shock.

"Oh," he said.

"Yeah, _oh_." Aubrey grunted in exertion. She looped her head through Lorraine's arm, supporting her torso with her arm. With two hands occupied, her umbrella lay on the mud. She nodded at it. "Bobby, get that, will you? Help me get 'em inside."

Bobby picked the umbrella off the ground. He gestured for Greg and Aiden to come out of the car; hesitantly, they did. Bobby handed Greg the muddy umbrella and kept the cleaner one for him and Aiden. A slight smile crept up Aubrey's lips and she started on the arduous walk up the porch and into the house.

Raindrops trickled onto the welcome mat, creating a steady rhythm of _pit-pat-pit-pat-pit-pat_. Lorraine was just as soaked with holy water as Aubrey was with the rain. Aubrey's boots left muddy footprints behind her as she trudged into the living room. With a final effort, she plopped the woman down on the sofa.

"Thank _God_," Aubrey silently exclaimed, cracking her neck. Someone cleared his throat behind her, and she turned around to find Bobby, Greg, and Aiden standing beside each other. None looked worse for wear. However, Aubrey had never hoped to see Bobby standing beside the two people she'd wanted to protect. She'd never wanted them to meet Bobby; in fact, they weren't even supposed to meet Sam and Dean. Her life was supposed to be a mystery to them. And everything had been going well until the night she'd met Lorraine.

Aubrey kept from glaring down at the woman lying on the couch, and instead met Greg's gaze. "Greg, why don't you and Aiden watch some TV for a bit?" she told him. "Me and Bobby have to… talk." Her eyes flickered to the man beside Aiden; he had both eyebrows raised in question, and she shrugged subtly.

Greg took a step forward, his eyes heated. "What happened back at the house, Jenna?"

"My name's not Jenna," Aubrey reminded him gently. "It's Aubrey."

His gaze faltered. "What did you do to Lorraine?"

"She's still breathing. Look, I promise I'll explain everything to you later. But Bobby—"

"We heard screaming!" Greg yelled. Behind him, Aiden flinched, and Bobby put his hand on the boy's shoulder caringly. Aubrey sent Greg a warning look. He lowered his voice. "We didn't know if something had happened to Lorraine or if you'd…" He trailed off; his voice broke at the last word, and it was enough to make Aubrey soften up.

Before she could say anything, however, Greg continued. "You tell us we're being hunted, you call my girlfriend a _thing_, say she's going to _kill_ me, and then tell us to lock ourselves in Aiden's room." His voice turned shaky. "Salt lines, holy water… You gave my son a _knife_." He shook his head and glared at Aubrey, and it was the coldest look he'd ever given her. "I want answers _now_."

Aubrey frowned deeply. She pondered on whether to tell him or not; if she did, they'd be stuck with the knowledge of hell and demons for the rest of their lives—and Aiden hadn't even peaked yet. And if she didn't tell them, she was quite positive that they'd go looking for answers themselves—which was as dangerous as it could get for unknowing humans.

Uncertainty coursed through her like waves on a beach. Over Greg's shoulder, she sent a desperate look to Bobby. His hand was still on Aiden's shoulder, but the boy had stopped shaking. Aubrey could imagine that he actually appreciated the touch of affection from the old man. She smiled, but it was gone as soon as Bobby nodded his head.

"Alright." She sighed, but didn't meet Greg's eyes. "You might want to take a seat, though."

Greg's gaze remained icy as he made a move for the kitchen, but Aubrey grabbed his sleeve, stopping him. He looked at her questioningly, and she schooled on a stern expression. "Aiden's scared enough as he is," she murmured. "He can't hear this. You have to understand—"

"I understand," he interjected. The fight seemed to have gone out of him, for his voice was weak. Aubrey took a small step back as he turned around and knelt in front of Aiden, just as he had back at the house. Bobby stepped away from both of them and took his place beside Aubrey. A silent understanding passed between them; without another word, they turned and walked into the kitchen.

It was only for a minute, more or less, before Greg walked in as well. His expression had turned somber, and his eyes were downcast—though still holding enough fire for Aubrey to discern that she had to tread carefully. Looking past him, she saw Aiden sitting on Bobby's couch with an unfamiliar cartoon playing on the TV. The boy was looking at the screen, but it didn't look like he was actually paying attention. There were books scattered in front of him on the table, but Greg had had enough sense to close them and flip them over.

Aubrey turned her attention back to Greg, who had taken a seat across from her and Bobby. He had taken his cross off his neck and was fingering it with his thumb.

"Explain now, please," he said, intently staring down at the tiny object between his fingers.

Aubrey looked at it as well. "As a Christian, you believe in God, right?" she said softly.

"Yes."

"And in heaven, the angels, the archangels, the prophets."

"Yes."

She raised an eyebrow. "Lucifer?"

There was a pause. Greg looked up from his cross and met Aubrey's gaze. "Yes," he said, albeit reluctantly. "He's the Devil."

"A fallen angel," said Aubrey. "When God created humans and asked all his celestial sons and daughters to bow down to us, Lucifer refused, and he was banished to Hell to become King… down there, that is." She took in Greg's surprised look with amusement, but she wanted nothing more than to stop it there and say that it was all just a big joke. But she couldn't. It was too late to back out now.

"Eventually, he created the Demons, and they called him Father," she continued, fiddling with her fingers. "Now, here's where it gets loony."

"I'm all ears," said Greg, but he had a frown on his face that told Aubrey he was trying hard to keep up.

She leaned forward and looked him in the eye. Taking a deep breath, she finally said, "They're real. God, heaven, angels, the Devil, _hell_, ghosts, demons, monsters—they're all real. They walk the earth. For all you know, your neighbor could get possessed tomorrow or next week… if he isn't already."

Everything went silent. Beside her, Bobby seemed to be holding his breath. Greg stared at her with a blank expression that either meant he didn't believe her, or was in shock. Aubrey voted for the latter. She glanced at Bobby and he quickly nodded for her to continue.

"I didn't tell you before because we wanted to protect you," she said. "Most humans can't cope with the knowledge. Some of them try to delve deeper into it and get themselves killed in the process. And Aiden…" Aubrey trailed off, glancing at the boy sitting in front of the television. "You _both_ have to be kept safe."

Greg shook his head slowly. From where she sat, Aubrey could see a thin sheet of tears appearing in his eyes. He blinked rapidly, though, and they disappeared. He raised his head. "What does this have to do with us? With _Lorraine_?"

"She was possessed," Aubrey replied. "That's why I told you to put salt lines in front of and behind the door. They keep demons at bay; at least, for a little while. What she was soaked in when you saw her was holy water. It hurts demons."

Recognition flashed across his face, and he swallowed thickly. "And the screaming?"

"I was exorcising her." She softened her voice. "You should know: it was the demon that was in pain, not her." Aubrey would have to check for damaged trachea or something though, when Lorraine woke. She'd pulled the make-shift rope considerably tight around her neck and she didn't want to take any chances.

"You're not joking, then." Greg's voice wavered. "This isn't a prank, or some stupid pun. D-demons are real." Aubrey bobbed her head, somewhat sadly. She didn't know if he was trying to convince her, or himself. "H-how do you even know all these stuff? Are you one of them or—?"

"No." Her gaze hardened. "We're hunters. Sam and Dean, and Bobby, and me, we were raised in the life. It's our job to track down as many supernatural creatures as we can and send the bastards back to where they came from." She didn't mention Purgatory. It was too early for that.

"W-why was the demon after me though?"

"It wasn't after you," she said. "It was after Aiden… and me. He was willing to kill you to get to Aiden—"

"Hold up." Greg held his hands up in a time-out gesture. "What's this got to do with Aiden?"

"Well… We aren't exactly… _human_." Aubrey shared a look with Bobby, and he mirrored her reluctance. She bit the inside of her cheek. "A few weeks ago, I died. I went to Purgatory—this place where all monsters supposedly go to when they get killed. I'm not entirely sure if where I went was the same place—because I didn't _see _anything particularly dark in there—but never mind that." She paused. "Because I'm not human, I was reincarnated."

Greg frowned deeply. "What are you then?"

"A Phoenix," replied Aubrey, sighing slightly. "God made us the same day he made the first angels, and we've been around practically ever since the universe was created. But now, we're practically extinct. The only ones left are me and…"

She hesitated. _This is it,_ she thought. _After I say this, there's no turning back._

"And who?" Greg demanded, dropping his cross and leaning forward; his eyes blazed with determination. "You and who?"

Aubrey pursed her lips. "Me and Aiden."

Greg's face paled, and he opened his mouth to say something, but Aubrey beat him to the punch. "Greg, think about it," she reasoned. "He was hit by a car. Practically every bone in his body got broken"—she might have overstated that a bit—"and the coroners said that every injury he _hadn't_ gotten from the car crash was gone too. Don't you think that's strange?"

"It's _strange_," said Greg, his voice hard. "As strange as it could possibly get. But he's a _kid_, Jenna—"

"Aubrey."

Anger flashed across his eyes. Aubrey was starting to think that maybe she'd gone too far (she was only trying to correct him), when Bobby finally spoke up.

"You don't have to believe us," he said. "But we're not taking any chances. That boy—your _son_—has got a dangerous life ahead of him. He's a walking monster magnet. Every colossal thing that ever crosses your neighborhood is gonna see what he is, and they're gonna get curious. So, the way I see it, you got two options." He held up a finger. "One: you're gonna let him walk around and attract more demons, possibly even a horde, just because the King of Hell needs him to find Purgatory. Or two," he held up another finger, "you'll stay here with him, where we can _protect_ him, until Aubrey and the boys find a solution."

He hadn't said any of it with anger or in a threatening tone; it hadn't even been impatient. By the way he said it, he was probably just as determined to keep both Aiden and Greg safe as much as Aubrey was. She eyed Greg with anxiety growing in her stomach. Perhaps he'd gotten a different message than the one Aubrey had understood.

But then he pursed his lips, nodded his head, and said in a low voice, "Alright. We'll stay."


	31. Chapter 31

**another filler chapter. unfortunately, there**'**s sort of gonna be a lot of those in this part of the story. i am so sorry, loves. :(**

**only one chapter today. i**'**ll try to update as soon as i can with two chapters, maybe three if i have the time. xDD**

**I DO NOT OWN SUPERNATURAL OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I ONLY OWN AUBREY. SHE**'**S MINE. RESPECT THE BORDERS.**

* * *

Two days into their rehabilitation program, and Greg still wouldn't let Aiden out of their room.

Aubrey would always knock on the door; tell them that the food was ready. Greg would always tell her that Aiden wanted to eat in the room, and Aubrey always ended up bringing two trays of food to their door because she wasn't sure whether it was really Greg's idea or not.

Their room was just across from hers. So once, she'd gotten lucky and caught Aiden come out. She didn't tackle him to the ground or anything like that; that would have frightened him immensely. What happened was, when he raised his head and met her gaze, she offered a tiny smile and a small wave. "Hello," she'd mouthed. He had said nothing, but returned the gesture either way before running down the rest of the way to the bathroom.

Lorraine woke up Monday evening. She freaked out once Aubrey started towards her, because apparently, she'd been awake and watching from inside her own head as Aubrey interrogated the demon that had possessed her. Aubrey told her everything she'd told Greg—about heaven, and God, and Hell, and all the angels and demons.

"You're all crazy," said Lorraine; her voice shook in either fear, or uncertainty. She then proceeded to threaten calling 911 on them, so Bobby ended up shoving her into one of his phone-less (and window-less) rooms. This room, coincidentally, also had only _one_ lock, and it was placed outside. Only Aubrey or Bobby could come in and walk out as they pleased; Lorraine was stuck in there until she decided to cooperate—which she didn't.

Just like Greg and Aiden, Aubrey was tasked to bring food to her every meal time. Thankfully, the woman ate. Aubrey didn't want her passed out of starvation before Sam and Dean arrived.

There came a time when Bobby felt guilt pressing on him, for keeping someone locked up against their will.

"We're _Team_ Free Will," he stated. "I feel like a hypocrite."

"It's only for a day or two, Bobby," Aubrey reasoned. "I'm tired, you're tired. We just have to wait until Sam and Dean get back. Then they'll be able to knock some sense into her."

"Can't you just call Cas and have him erase her memories or something? We don't need her, and she means nothing to the demons. All Crowley wants are Aiden and you."

"Don't you think I haven't thought about doing that before?" she said, smiling humorlessly. "I've tried, and Cas won't answer. I'm starting to get pissed with the guy, actually. And apart from that—Lorraine means something to Greg and Aiden. If we let her out, Crowley could capture her any time and use her as bait. We can't risk that."

Bobby sighed tiredly. "What do you propose we do, then?"

Aubrey frowned and turned away. "I'm thinking about it."

* * *

It was Wednesday, now. Aubrey and Bobby were sitting in the living room. The younger one of the pair had her ears pricked, and her fingers raced furiously across her keyboard to keep up with Bobby's translations. He was almost halfway through the Purgatory Book now, but their translations were still rusty. Whatever piece of information he could find that actually sounded practical, he would tell Aubrey, and she would scour the internet for the one thing they needed to link it to Purgatory, or to the Mother of All, or to the gate.

Sometime during their research, Remiel's name was repeated quite a few times in a single page, and it was enough to catch Aubrey's attention. She heaved herself to her feet, blood rushing back to her legs as she moved to look over Bobby's shoulder. Her eyes scanned the foreign text and she struggled to translate the more complicated words, but there was one that was, no doubt, written several times in that one paragraph.

She let her eyes flicker to Bobby. "Care to translate that for me?"

A frown slowly eased onto his face, and he shook his head. "I can only make out a few phrases, but…" He cleared his throat gruffly. "_Remiel has been known, by many in the Upper World,_"—being heaven—"_for his creation of a new Purgatory._" He stopped there and shared a look with Aubrey.

She frowned. "_New_ Purgatory? What the hell does that mean?"

Bobby shrugged, before switching his gaze back to the book._"_Dot dot dot… don't know what _that_ means… here—_smaller, and will contain only heaven's purest of creations. Remiel has placed his Veil_—capital V—_over the site, cloaking it from view of..._" Bobby shook his head again. "_Only the Son of Man truly knows where this place is._"

"That's it then." Aubrey stared down at the pages with a glint in her eye. "The Purgatory I went to is different from the one Crowley's looking for… right?" She looked to Bobby, but her heart dropped when he only shrugged.

"Can't be sure, Aub," he said. "Either way, your Purgatory's about just as powerful as the original he's looking for. Yours contains Phoenixes and fire-grass and whatnot."

Aubrey wasn't amused. "There aren't any Phoenixes over there right now," she argued. "Unless Aiden or I are dying anytime soon, that place is gonna stay empty. And like the Book said, Remiel placed his damn jacket over the place or something, so that for some reason, even Phoenixes don't know how to find their way back without dying. How the hell can I compete with that?"

Bobby pursed his lips. "You know, all that would probably get the demons off that boy's tail if you told them to Crowley instead of me."

"Crowley would chain me up and get Hellfire on me before I could even say a word!"

"Demons may be assholes, but they're _smart_ assholes," Bobby pointed out. Aubrey inclined her head in grim, silent agreement. "And Crowley's smarter than most. If he really wants to find the Purgatory he's looking for, he'll listen. _If_ you start it off with reason, that is.

Aubrey mulled it over for a moment. "Won't he just ask me to use my Phoenix…_ness_ to threaten demons to tell him where it is? That is, if he doesn't threaten me too at first."

There were a few seconds of silence, before a heavy sigh puffed through Bobby's lips. "You're right," he said.

"You were right about one thing though," said Aubrey. "Demons are smart assholes."

A soft snort escaped Bobby, and Aubrey smirked. She settled back down into her chair, staring at the phrase she'd recently typed into the search bar with narrowed eyes. It wasn't going to do them any good now, so she Backspaced the letters one by one. At the final letter, an ironic _P_, the phone started ringing at the other end of the room. Aubrey made a move to get it but Bobby patted her down, walking to it himself.

She stared after him with a slight smile before looking back down at the bright screen in front of her. The longer she stared, the more her thoughts wandered back to Greg and Aiden. They were upstairs at the moment. What could they be doing?

Were they still asleep? (The chances of this being true were quite low, considering how late it was in the afternoon.) Were they playing a boring game of Patty Cake, perhaps? Or was Greg explaining to his child what really happened back at the house, and what was really going on? The thought made Aubrey shudder, and she banished the prospect immediately with a shake of her head.

Maybe Aiden was scuffling around in the room, looking for something to do as his father sat on the foot of the bed, watching him. They hadn't exactly had the time to pack anything up before Aubrey had dragged them out of the house, and she wouldn't risk going back there before Sam and Dean got back. She knew what to prioritize, and it wasn't Aiden's toys.

However, she couldn't help but to feel guilty at Aiden's probable boredom. She made a mental note to go to the market and get him some cheap (but considerable) toy cars. Once, she'd gone with Bobby to his local supermarket to buy a chicken heart—for a hunt, of course. They'd passed by a boy and his mother; the boy was holding a small plastic box in his hands filled with tiny toy cars, much like the one Aiden had back at his house. Aubrey thought she'd never need that memory ever again, but monsters weren't the only ones going whack these days.

Just as she finally thought of something she could type into the search bar, Bobby turned around; his face was grim, and his jaw set. Before he even said anything, Aubrey was on her feet and rushing to stand by him.

"What is it?" she asked urgently.

"It's the boys. They just got off that case in Bristol," said Bobby. He looked distracted; maybe because Dean was probably telling him something through the phone, and he was struggling to tell Aubrey what was going on _while_ listening to Dean rant.

Aubrey dragged her chair beside Bobby and sat. "Put 'em on speaker," she said.

Bobby pulled the phone away from his ear and pressed on a button. There was a loud _beep_, and then Dean's voice was talking through the speaker.

**"Aub, you there?"** he said.

"I'm here," replied Aubrey, her voice laced with anxiety. "What happened?"

**"**_**Apparently,**_** Humpty Dumpty here already worked a case with Samuel a year ago in the same damn town, while I was living with Lisa,"** Dean said. By the way he spoke in a muffled tone, Aubrey assumed that he and Sam were eating at the moment.

"And?"Aubrey stopped herself from wondering why it wasn't Sam who was explaining everything instead of his brother.

**"He starts remembering things—bits and pieces. We were able to finish up with the case without him fainting… or something like that. Then we drive back to this crappy, worn-out little shack that Sam found. We start packing up, right?"**

"Yeah, _and_?" Her patience was wearing thin. Her fingers started tapping against Bobby's wooden table. Ambiguously, she noticed Bobby rapping his foot against the floor.

Across the line, an exasperated sigh came from Dean; along with him saying something that sounded vaguely along the lines of "on her period". Aubrey made a mental note to screw Dean over as soon as they got back—maybe something consisting of the Impala and some super glue.

**"I'll put it like this,"** Dean said slowly. **"Humpty Dumpty built a great wall… Humpty Dumpty started kicking the damn wall just enough times that it cracked."**

Aubrey's heart dropped. But at the same time, another voice came in from the other end of the line. It was Sam. His voice was quiet, as if he was standing far enough away from Dean's cell for it to hear him correctly. However, Aubrey was able to hear something along the lines of "break it easy".

"Sam, is that you?" she said, barely being able to keep the panic out of her voice.

**"Uh, yeah,"** came the lame reply.

"You good? No broken bones?"

**"None that I know of."**

Bobby scoffed lightly beside her. "I guess Dean had a bucket of super glue when Humpty broke the wall."

**"You're taking that Humpty Dumpty thing way too seriously."** It was Dean now. He sighed loudly, and then there was the unmistakable sound of rustling paper. Maybe he was done with his grub.**"Anyway, yeah, he's fine."**

"How long was he out?" inquired Bobby, leaning forward slightly.

There was a pause. **"About three minutes, give or take. He says it felt like a week, but I wouldn't take his word for it."**

Aubrey hated the fact that Dean was trying to make a joke out of it. Even though she knew that he was just trying to lighten up the mood, and that he cared for Sam as much as any of them, she still hated it. She didn't say a thing, and neither did Bobby. From the corner of her eye, she could see that he was looking at her with an apprehensive glint in his eye.

**"You guys still there?"** Dean finally said.

"Yeah, we're here," said Bobby, though he didn't take her eyes off Aubrey.

**"What's with the silent treatment? Did Aubrey walk out or something? 'Cuz Sam here's got a guess on why she's acting so moody—"**

"I didn't walk out," Aubrey interjected sharply. Silence met her statement from the other end, and she guessed that Dean had finally discern that she was entirely serious about the situation. But as much as she was worried about what had happened to Sam, she couldn't help but remember her own blackout not five days ago. Three minutes passed when Sam had blacked out, and it felt like a week for him. For Aubrey, it had been a minute, maybe even less—but it had felt like three days.

She wondered what it would feel like if either of them were out for a week. The thought made her insides flip over, so she stopped. Bobby was still staring at her, though, and she knew what he was thinking. With a small jerk of her head, she gave him her permission.

"Aubrey blacked out too," stated Bobby. He switched his gaze from her to the phone. "Last Monday."

**"How long?"** Sam cut in with a grim tone.

"A minute, I think. I couldn't exactly count with her slumped over my shoulder." Neither of them smiled.

**"What triggered it?"**

"A name from the book you found in the dragon's den: _Remiel_." As soon as Bobby said the name, Aubrey's insides seemed to flip over. "He was an Elohite, but the internet keeps calling him the Angel of Purgatory. Aubrey here tells me that she's met him before, during her trip to Purgatory."

"He was charged with cleansing the souls of whoever went to Purgatory," Aubrey added, swallowing back the lump in her throat. "He starts the fire, and the fire purifies."

**"Why didn't Crowley ever mention him before?"** Dean said, before adding, **"Before we roasted his ass, that is."**

That was when Aubrey remembered the certain bomb Balthazar had dropped when she found him standing on the Bishop's front porch. She was anxious, but this was information that couldn't be kept hidden. It was vital that the boys know, and Bobby, because Crowley wanted them as much as he wanted Aiden and Aubrey. Alive.

"You guys are probably gonna hate me for forgetting to mention this, but…" She swallowed thickly. "Crowley's alive."

There came a light scoff from the other line. **"Who the hell told you that?"**

"Balthazar," Aubrey replied simply. Across from her, Bobby's death glare turned confused, and she took the chance to explain the whole story. "After I blacked out, Bobby told me to get some sleep. I snuck out, of course—"

**"Good girl."**

"—and went to Aiden's. No one was home though, and I explored a little bit." Her voice dropped an octave. "Turns out, I'm not the only one who remembers Purgatory."

Bobby almost spit his beer at her. Thankfully though, he didn't, but ended up coughing rather harshly.

**"He remembers?"** demanded Sam. He was probably wondering how someone as young as Aiden dealt with the pain all on his own—as was Aubrey.

She forgot that they were probably a hundred miles away, and nodded her head in reply before continuing. "Then the doorbell rang. And guess who was waiting on the porch."

**"Balthazar."** Dean's voice was a growl, but Aubrey couldn't exactly blame him.

"_With_ Aiden," Aubrey added. "That's when he told me all about how Crowley's still alive… and something else."

"Wow," said Bobby, sarcasm dripping in his tone. "You forgot to mention _a lot_ of things, Aub." She inclined her head in apology, and he acknowledged her with a soft grunt. She sighed.

**"What is it?"** Sam asked.

"It's the Mother," Aubrey said grimly. "The Mother of All. She's out."

Hard sighs came from the other end, and a single solid one from Bobby. He ran a hand over his face, and Aubrey pursed her lips. She had expected loud accusations to come from either the boys or their uncle, but none came.

Much to her surprise, however, Bobby spoke. "We'll talk about our next move once you boys get back. I'll just go ahead and broach the elephant in the room, alright, Aub?"

She nodded, albeit confusedly. Which elephant was left to be broached?

"You've got some new flat mates, boys," Bobby said, to which Aubrey's head cleared. "Aubrey brought the whole Bishop family."

**"What?"** Sam said. **"Why?"**

"Mother dearest got possessed, Sam. I exorcised her, but not before grilling for some info," Aubrey said. "The demon was working for Crowley, so I asked if it knew how Crowley was still alive. It didn't. Then it said that Crowley's got a new sidekick. Whoever it is, I'm guessing he helped Crowley get back from the dead.

Bobby frowned. "Did you get a name?"

Aubrey shook her head. "No name, no details, no nothing."

**"Okay, look,"** Dean cut in. **"We're on our way, probably gonna get there tomorrow afternoon. Keep the new flat mates safe, and we'll talk about the **_**plans**_** as soon as we get there, alright?"**

"Got it," Bobby and Aubrey replied at the same time. Dean hung up, and Bobby put the phone down. Aubrey stared down at it, her heart thumping loudly against her chest. The boys would be back by tomorrow; she was finally going to be able to get off her ass and _do something_.

Silence filled the room, and when she raised her head, Bobby had his lips pursed.

"We've got elephants," he said.

Aubrey's lips quirked up in a small smile. "We've got elephants."

* * *

**review, please. ^^**


	32. Chapter 32

**Multiple updates! (Hoorayyy!)**

**Yo celebrate with me**

**I DO NOT OWN SUPERNATURAL OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS; ONLY MY OC, AUBREY MILLIGAN, AND A QUARTER OF THIS PLOT.**

* * *

True to their word, Sam and Dean arrived at 2 o'clock sharp Thursday afternoon.

Two hours prior, Aubrey had ordered three huge boxes of pizza and set them in the dining room. When Bobby asked why she did so, she said, "A welcoming back… thing."

Bobby frowned. "We never made them a welcoming back thing before—"

"And I'm hungry."

"But three boxes—"

"And the boys haven't had lunch yet."

"Sam and Dean—"

"I meant the _other_ boys." Aubrey inclined her head expectantly. "The ones upstairs." That shut Bobby up; because what she said was true. Neither Greg nor Aiden had been brought food yet, because neither Aubrey nor Bobby had even bothered to _cook_ anything. If Aubrey hadn't ordered pizza, Greg very well might have come down and cooked something himself.

That made Aubrey wonder whether he would _really_ have done such a thing. Perhaps she could experiment one of these days, when Bobby's cupboards were actually stocked up with cans of food that were edible.

The sound of the Impala's engine snapped Aubrey out of her thoughts. She slipped on her plaid shirt and made her way to the front door, with Bobby trailing behind her. She schooled on an easy expression, the one she always had whenever she got together with people she hadn't seen for a long time. Inside, however, she was torn between feeling excited, and feeling terrified.

Greg had met the boys before, under the impression that they were actually Aubrey's brothers. And why shouldn't she have said that? For all she knew, they were as close to being labeled as family as they could get. Aiden, however, was yet to meet either of them. He'd expressed his enthusiasm before, mainly because Aubrey had mentioned that Dean owned an "awesome car". But now that both he and his father knew what Sam and Dean, and Aubrey and Bobby really were—hunters—would they feel the same way as before? All Aubrey could do was hope.

Sam and Dean looked exhausted as they stepped out of the car, but presumably not as exhausted as Aubrey and Bobby must have looked. She stood on the porch, Bobby beside her as the four of them shared apprehensive looks. It seemed that even the boys weren't sure what to do, and Aubrey was just considering the idea of calling a certain celestial friend for help when Dean spoke up.

"I'm starving," he said.

Aubrey's eyebrows shot up in amusement, and she looked sideways at Bobby, who had his lips pursed. She smirked before turning her attention back to the Winchesters. "Lucky for you," she said, "I ordered us some pizza."

Sam frowned seriously. "How many boxes?"

"Three," Aubrey replied. The brothers looked at each other uncertainly. Dean opened his mouth to say something, but Aubrey cut him off. "They're large," she quickly added. "And I'm not that hungry, so…"

Hesitation flashed across Sam's face; the same happened with Dean. After a moment of their silence, Aubrey rolled her eyes and stepped off the porch.

"Come on, boys." She strode to them, her boots crunching against the rocky ground, and wrapped her arms around either of the brothers' shoulders. She was almost as tall as Dean, maybe just two or three millimeters shorter, so it was no problem pulling him into the house. Sam, however, was gigantic. Her arm strained to remain latched across his shoulders, resulting in him walking with his head bowed low.

The three of them walked past Bobby, who chuckled at the sight. Once the four of them were in the kitchen, Aubrey gently shoved the boys' faces closer to the pizza boxes, holding them there for a few seconds to let them inhale the delicious scent before letting go. The hungry looks on their faces only clarified that they were, in fact, starving.

Aubrey grinned before she turned around and started for the stairs. "Go ahead and eat, I'll catch up. Just _don't_ finish the pizza before I get back, alright?"

She heard Dean snort. "No promises there."

The upstairs hallways were quiet, which was unusual considering Lorraine would normally be knocking loudly on the door until early evening. Maybe she'd finally decided to cooperate—or she'd just gotten a whiff of the pizza from downstairs, and thought that perhaps she would be given more than one slice if she kept her mouth shut. And though it was close to impossible to actually have smelled the pizza from in her room, Aubrey knew that, if that was how Lorraine was thinking, then there may be hope for her yet.

As usual, Aubrey knocked thrice on Greg and Aiden's door. There was always a slight glimmer of hope in her that they would open the door _before_ asking questions, but it slowly died down as she realized that, as always, it wasn't going to happen.

"Greg, Aiden, please come out," she called to be heard through the wooden frame. When no reply came, she placed an ear on the door and concentrated. Sure enough, there were two people inside—one breathing heavier than was necessary. She suspected that it was Aiden, but there was a possibility that it was Greg too. For all she knew, both of them could have been the same amount of terrified.

"Greg, please," repeated Aubrey, getting impatient. She'd never had the right to before, but now Greg was keeping Sam and Dean waiting as well. Neither Winchester was going to respect that, though they'd try to tone it down.

Aubrey sighed in frustration. "Greg, I swear to God, you need to get your head out of your ass—"

The door flew open, revealing a fuming Greg. He was still in his pajamas—which were, to say, a pair of cotton pants and a t-shirt—and was looking quite more stressed than usual. Behind him was Aiden, standing by the window, eyes wide, lips pressed shut. His body was rigid, though Aubrey didn't need to notice this to know that he was still frightened by her. She glanced at him sadly before meeting Greg's gaze.

"Finally grew the balls, yeah?" she muttered. Greg's eyes turned cold, and they glared at each other. Aubrey didn't even know where her anger was coming from, but she didn't want to ruin her chances of getting them to come out of the room. Taking a deep breath, she clenched and unclenched her fists behind her. "Whatever," she said. "Sam and Dean are downstairs. They just got back, and by unanimous vote, we agreed that it was time to talk to you about the full abrasions of our _problem_." She let her eyes flicker to the boy at the back of the room, who was staring at her like she'd grown a pair of wings over the last few days.

_Little does he know..._ Aubrey mused to herself. In front of her, Greg's expression softened. He glanced behind him at his son, and they shared a look. Hope flared across Aubrey's chest, and she sighed softly.

"Look, I stand by what I told you at the car," she said, addressing both of them now. "We aren't here to hurt you. We're here to protect you." Aubrey caught Aiden's eye, and allowed a twinkle to appear in hers. "If you're hungry, come down. There's pizza. And Sam and Dean are there too, so if you want to meet them and their awesome car..."

Aiden puffed up slightly upon hearing the words, but he threw a questioning glance at his father, and Aubrey knew that it was just Greg who was left to be convinced.

"At least come down for the pizza," she told him earnestly. "Aiden would love it."

Greg still hadn't looked away from the boy, who had wandered back onto the bed and was seemingly more interested with the fabric of the blankets than with what was happening in the conversation. Aubrey smiled slightly because she knew that he was just avoiding a direct confrontation with his father. In a way, she could understand that.

She stood there for a few minutes, watching Greg's expression with observant eyes. When it became obvious that it was going to take a while for him to make the decision, she addressed their _other_ problem; more specifically, the one in the room down the hall.

"And it just occurred to me that you might want to talk with Lorraine," said Aubrey, scratching her ear awkwardly. Greg's head snapped to the side to look at her, making her purse her lips. "Yeah, she's down the hall, so if you want to see her..." Beneath the lids of her eyes, she could vaguely make out Greg's hand clenching and unclenching. "Seriously though, talk to her. She won't cooperate; she's been banging the doors nonstop ever since she woke up. We're lucky none of Bobby's neighbors have heard. We tried explaining the whole situation to her but she threatened to call 911, and we had to lock her up."

Something flashed across Greg's face, something that might have been fear but Aubrey couldn't be sure. She frowned. "We haven't hurt her, if that's what you're thinking..."

"I know you haven't."

It was the first time in days that Greg had said something completely audible, and Aubrey was so surprised that she just stood there staring at him, not about to reply any time soon. Some part of her was relieved that he'd finally said something to her. Perhaps they would come down, if she just gave them time to talk about it. Then, thinking better of herself, Aubrey fished out a pair of keys from her jeans' pocket and handed it to Greg. He stared down at them with a confused look.

"In case you want to talk to Lorraine," Aubrey explained quickly. "Their identical, so it doesn't really matter which one you use..."

Greg was looking at Aubrey now, with an expression she could only describe as perplexed, and nervous, and scared, and relieved all at the same time. The keys on his still-outstretched hand rattled lightly, filling the room with the sound of its tinkling. Aubrey stared at them, uncertain that she should have given them to Greg, before shaking the thoughts away.

She cleared her throat. "I'll be waiting downstairs. Feel free to invite Lorraine; she could use a bit of fresh air."

She didn't wait for Greg's reply. Turning around, Aubrey waved a short goodbye to Aiden before starting on her way back down the stairs.

As was expected, Sam, Dean, and Bobby had already started on one of the boxes. Luckily, Aubrey had paid for three _large_ ones, and one box was enough to keep the starving hunters at bay. Groaning, Aubrey plopped onto the seat beside Bobby and snatched up one of the remaining pieces of pizza. She took a large bite out the end, looking sadly at the empty spot on the table where her bottle of beer should have been.

"I take it didn't go so well?" Bobby said, taking a sip of his beer as Aubrey eyed it enviously.

"It went better than expected, actually." She stood up and wandered to the fridge, where she took the cap off a beer bottle before sauntering back to the dining table. "I gave them the keys to Lorraine's door, just in case she decided she wanted a slice."

"We're not sharing this box," Dean spoke up, his mouth full, snatching the second box from the free chair beside him. "They can have the last one."

Aubrey rolled her eyes, though she was smiling. "What exactly are we gonna _plan_ anyway?" she inquired, nibbling on a piece of pepperoni stuck between her teeth.

"For one, we can't keep 'em cooped up in here for the rest of their lives," Sam said, removing the bell peppers from his pizza slice. "They have to learn how to defend themselves."

"Yeah, but to learn how to _defend_ themselves," Aubrey argued, "they'd have to learn everything there is about hunting. You know that, right, Sam?"

"I really don't know what else we can do, Aubrey. Kill Crowley?"

"I don't see why we shouldn't!"

"Doing that would just get us a whole army of angry demons on our tail, Aub," Dean piped up. "Killing Crowley won't make a difference; they'd still want us dead... some of us, dead _for good_."

_Does he think I actually asked to be given the ability of _not_ dying?_ Aubrey tried to tone her glare down to a minimum, but it was difficult. "So, it's either we keep them here and teach them how to shoot a gun—AKA, how to be a hunter—or we let them free, kill Crowley, and _then_ teach them how to shoot a gun?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "The way you're phrasing it doesn't exactly help..."

"How should I phrase it then, Dean?"

"We wouldn't exactly be teaching them how to be hunters; just the basics. How to shoot a gun, yeah. How to exorcise a demon, how to keep a demon busy, and all those stuff. We wouldn't teach them how to look for trouble."

"Trouble would be the one to find them, Dean," Aubrey snapped. "Greg's human, and he doesn't have Enochian carved on his ribs—Crowley can trace his whereabouts. In fact, I think it's so friggin epic that he hasn't sent his goons here yet!"

Dean went quiet, only further proving that Aubrey had a point. It was Bobby, however, who chose to contradict her.

"There is another option, Aubrey," the old man drawled slowly, his finger tapping the condensed glass of his bottle.

She turned her head and looked at him with a frown. "What is it?"

"We send 'em abroad," he said, and Aubrey's stomach lurched. "Pull Cas down here to give Greg an Enochian check-up, wipe Aiden's memory so he doesn't get sent to a mental institution first chance he gets, get 'em a few fake ID's and get 'em on a plane to Europe or Asia—anywhere but here."

Aubrey was torn. Initially, she was disgusted with the idea: wiping Aiden's memory clean off and giving him a new name. She had taken note that only Aiden was going to get a mind-wipe, most likely because Greg would be charged with protecting the boy. He would be the one to remember everything, carrying the weight of his son's safety on his shoulders, fearing that every turn they made would result in a demon possessing his body in order to bring Aiden to Crowley. Aubrey didn't know the statistical number of demons in other countries, but she had to hope that there were less there than there were in America.

Still, the idea horrified her.

"'Course, they ain't gonna stay there," Bobby added quickly. Aubrey's face must have been conveying everything in her head, and she struggled to school a passive expression. "Just until all this Purgatory stuff dies down, you know?"

"Yeah," Aubrey replied lamely, glancing at Dean through her eyelashes. She wondered what he thought about Bobby's proposal, considering he could relate to her most and all—because of what he had with Lisa and Ben.

Before she could voice for his opinion, though, footsteps echoed down the staircase. Aubrey had barely turned around when she found Greg and Aiden standing by the foot of the stairs, Greg's arm wrapped around Aiden's shoulder protectively. Then there was another pair of footsteps echoing down the staircase; heavier, quicker. Aubrey stood up, already knowing who it was.

Not five seconds had passed before Lorraine was standing beside Greg, her hand on the back of Aiden's head even though the boy was clearly uncomfortable. Lorraine looked haggard, with her hair in oily mats around her head and her face lined with dirt. There had been a bathroom in her room; hadn't she noticed, or was she just _that_ rebellious?

Aubrey regarded the three of them with a hard expression, Bobby's words stuck in her head. Nevertheless, she said, "I'll get you plates."

She turned away, determined not to show them the conflicted emotions running through her at the moment. When she returned with three plates and two bottles of beer for the adults, they had seated themselves on the dining table. Aiden sat next to Greg, and Greg next to Bobby; Lorraine next to Dean, who subtly scooted his chair closer to Sam. Aubrey placed the plates in front of the newcomers and handed the beer to Greg and Lorraine. Greg accepted it with unsure fingers, but Lorraine made no move to take it, so Aubrey ended up leaving it in front of her in case she ever decided she wanted it.

Silence followed quickly after that. Dean met Aubrey's gaze, and she let her eyes flicker to the only-unopened pizza box, which was on the center of the table. Dean picked it up immediately and handed it to Lorraine. Lorraine stared at it, looking disgusted. With anxious eyes, Aubrey watched as Dean threw Greg a look. Greg took the box gratefully and opened it. He placed two slices on his own plate and two on Aiden's. Lorraine continued staring at the pizza as if it had been poisoned or something.

"So," Aubrey started, speaking to Lorraine as she clasped her hands together. "Has Greg filled you in yet?"

Lorraine's eyes flicked to the man seated across from her for a moment before returning to Aubrey. "He tried, but I still think you're all a bunch of lunatics."

"Lunatics who haven't killed you, or maimed you, or tortured you, but are actually offering you a decent lunch, for a change." Aubrey smirked at the look on Lorraine's face, but quickly waved the argument away. "But we're not here to talk about what _we_ are. We're here to talk about how to keep _you_ guys safe."

Across the table, Bobby was staring at her. Probably asking for permission or something. She returned his gaze and subtly shook her head once.

As they talked to the family about the repercussions they were going to have to face, none of the four hunters mentioned anything about the possible abroad-transport. But Aubrey knew that they were going to have to use the idea eventually. All of them knew Crowley was too dangerous, too driven. And she hated it.

Greg was hesitant in accepting the first choice. Aubrey would have felt the same; she wouldn't have wanted to teach her only son how to shoot a gun at such a young age. In fact, she would never have wanted a son in the first place. When she mentioned the second choice, however, Greg seemed on-board with just teaching Aiden.

"We don't want any more trouble than it's worth," he said. "This… Crowley person—he's gonna come looking for us?"

Aubrey frowned. "He won't be able to find you. We're pulling Cas down here as soon as we can to place warding sigils on you so demons can't trace you."

Beside her, Lorraine was muttering the words "blasphemy" and "sinners" over and over again, and Aubrey had to resist the urge to roll her eyes. _They_ were blasphemous? _Well, yeah, maybe a little._ Now that she thought about it, probably all hunters were sinners and blasphemous. But she supposed it was the price they had to pay—being called blasphemous—for trying to help.

"Who's Cas?" Aiden suddenly said. When all eyes turned on him, he quickly shoved his face closer to his pizza, his eyes wide and his lips trembling.

"It's alright," Aubrey told him in a soft voice. "Cas is a… _heavenly_ friend of ours. He's pulled us out of some rough patches. Recently he's sort of been… out of order"—Dean scoffed beside her, probably because she was putting it _very_ mildly—"But we'll make sure he comes for this."

Lorraine seemed to be contemplating what Aubrey meant by 'heavenly friend', but Greg beat her to the punch.

"So he's a saint?" he asked.

Aubrey almost laughed. "Something like that."

"An angel, then."

"Yes."

Greg nodded his head slowly, seeming at a loss for words. Lorraine actually started stuttering, her head thrashing wildly about and looking from one hunter to another as if they were animals. Aubrey leaned closer to her and muttered into her ear.

"If you call us lunatics one more time," she said, "I'm locking you back in your room." Lorraine's eyes widened, but she shut her mouth. Aubrey continued, "Eat your pizza." Lorraine quickly picked up her pizza slice and shoved a large piece of it into her mouth. Bobby watched all of these proceedings with his lips pursed shut. When he met Aubrey's gaze, she merely shrugged. She smirked when his lips turned up in a bare smile.

Once all of them were through with the pizza (Sam and Dean had devoured the remaining three pieces of the last box), Bobby and Aubrey started clearing the plates. Aubrey noticed the Bishops—including Lorraine—make their way towards the stairs, no doubt about to stay in their rooms until told otherwise once more, but she wasn't going to have that.

"Sam, Dean," she called into the living room.

Two seconds later, Sam poked his head through the doorway, eyes wide with question. "What's up?" he said. Dean appeared behind him, looking more tired than Aubrey had ever seen him before.

She had a moment of doubt before she said, "Why don't you show Aiden the Impala?" Dean froze slightly as the final word escaped her lips. "He's been pining to get to see it up close ever since I mentioned it. He's a huge car fan." The family by the staircase stopped their ascent, and Aubrey turned her gaze to Aiden. "You still are, right?"

Almost reluctantly, he nodded his head.

"Good," said Aubrey, smiling lightly. "Sam, Dean, show him. Greg, Lorraine, you can go too, if you want."

Greg shifted from foot to foot, just as uncertain as his son. Lorraine's eyes had once again started looking from one place to another wildly. Sam walked towards them, keeping his towering figure as mildly-intimidating as possible. He said something in a low voice before leading them out to the back, where they'd parked the Impala. Dean passed by Aubrey and made a move to follow them, but she grabbed his arm.

"Keep Aiden interested for as long as you can," she told him urgently. "If he stays, the whole family stays. I'm gonna try to get Cas down here." _Try,_ she repeated in her head, sighing inwardly.

Dean nodded in understanding, turning around to trail after his brother but Aubrey still hadn't let go of his sleeve. "And Dean?" He faced her again. "Don't scare them."

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**Note the word _try_. :I Oh cas.**

**MAKE SURE TO LEAVE A REVIEW! ^^**


	33. Chapter 33

**Do you guys recall how this continues? ;) That episode was my absolute FAVORITE.**

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Thunder rumbled outside; lightning flashed. Heavy rain pattered on Bobby's roof, heavy enough that Aubrey could actually hear it from the study room in the second lowest floor of the house. She sat in front of Bobby's desk, her laptop in front of her as she tried her hand in translating the Purgatory book. Dean sat beside her, sifting through the translations she and Bobby had already gotten out of the book. The glass in his hand was empty, and he snatched the bottle of whiskey from the floor beside his feet, but even from where she sat Aubrey could see that it had gone empty as well. He slammed it back onto the table none too gently, scoffing.

Sam appeared from the living room, four gigantic books stacked together in his arms. He took in the sight of Dean's empty glass with a frown. "Where's Bobby?" he asked and, after a moment, added, "And Greg, and Aiden, and Lorraine?"

Dean nodded to the front door. "In town, supply run."

His brother's eyes widened. "In this?" he asked, astonished.

"Yeah, heroes, I say." Dean stared at the empty whiskey bottle in contempt. "We are officially out of hunter's helper."

As Sam chuckled lightly, Aubrey did her best to drown out their voices. Mostly because she didn't want to be reminded of the fact that Aiden and Greg had gone out into town in a storm, but also because she was concentrating. There was a phrase she couldn't quite get right, but the correct translation was just on the tip of her tongue. She closed her eyes and massaged her temples, murmuring the words to herself over and over again.

Then there was a particularly disconcerting rumble of thunder outside, behind which was the eerily familiar sound of a bird's flapping wings. Her eyes snapped open just as the angel announced his presence—though it wasn't the angel Aubrey was hoping for.

"Hello, boys," Balthazar said from inside the kitchen, regarding Aubrey with a cool expression. "And girl." He strode into the room and past Sam, who was staring at the angel, his mouth agape, much like his brother. Aubrey slammed her laptop and the Purgatory Book shut, just before Balthazar gestured pointedly at her. "You've seen The Godfather, right?"

She blinked. "Um…"

"You know in the end where Michael Corleone sends his men to kill his enemies in one big, bloody swoop?" the angel interjected quickly. Aubrey had, in fact, _never_ seen The Godfather before. Her eyes flicked to where Sam stood, and he was shaking his head in confusion.

Dean took a single step forward, no doubt wanting answers that Balthazar wasn't going to give them easily. "Hey," he said.

Balthazar didn't seem to hear him. He'd placed a wooden mortar and pestle onto the desk, carelessly sweeping aside the books Sam had gotten from the library not five minutes ago. The angel turned around and snatched a white box from Bobby's cupboards. "_Dead sea brine_—good, good, good." He started sprinkling the contents into the bowl. "You know, Moe Greene gets it in the eye, and Don Cuneo gets it in the revolving door?"

Aubrey knew none of these names, but she just kept nodding her head in hopes that he would discern from her face that she was _very_ confused. She couldn't help but to remember her last encounter with the angel: he had stolen Aiden away from school and brought him home, where he then proceeded to give her hints about the Mother of All. It hadn't really helped much, but some part of her was starting to think that maybe he was on their side after all.

Meanwhile, Dean was being his same pushy self, and Balthazar was sassing him all the way to Asia.

"Blood of lamb, blood of lamb…" the angel trailed off, disappearing from his spot in front of Aubrey, and reappearing in the kitchen. He sifted through the contents of their fridge with a heavy hand. "Beer, cold pizza—blood of lamb! Yes! Blood of lamb!"

He sounded like a child, really; a child who had just been bought a toy he'd been wanting for several months.

"Why are you talking about The Godfather?" Aubrey inquired, her face scrunching up in disgust as Balthazar pulled the lid off the jar which apparently contained blood of lamb. She pushed herself off her seat and lumbered to the side of the table, where she could still keep a keen eye on the angel in their midst.

"Because we're in it; right now, tonight," he replied sharply. "And in the role of Michael Corleone—the archangel Raphael."

Aubrey's heart faltered. And in her head, only one thought occurred to her. _Aiden and Greg._ Bobby could take care of them, right? They were in the market right now, walking through one of the aisles. Raphael surely wouldn't want anything with them, for they had done nothing wrong. If anything, it was Aubrey he should have wanted to kill first. She'd beaten him to a pulp in what seemed like a millennia ago, when Castiel would immediately answer their calls and when they didn't have to worry about souls of any kind except their own.

Dean spoke: "You mind telling us what you mean?"

Balthazar was done pouring the blood into the bowl, but didn't seem to be satisfied. "No, no, no," he muttered, pulling Bobby's drawer open and searching through the contents. "No, no, no, no!" Before Aubrey could say anything, he had pulled the drawer out of the table and was spilling its contents onto the chair she had previously been sitting on. Aubrey flinched when something glass fell out and shattered onto the wooden floor.

As she and Dean were giving him dirty looks, Balthazar had found what he was looking for. "Yes. Bone of a lesser saint." He smiled a condescending smile at the two of them, ignoring their hateful stares as he showed them what looked to be a bone of some sort fitted into a small plastic bag. "This vertebra will do very nicely. Your Mr. Singer does keep a _beautiful_ pantry."

"Wait," Dean cut in. "Raphael is after you?"

"Raphael is after us _all_." Balthazar slipped the vertebra out of its confines and crushed it in his hands. The bone turned to dust in his palm, and he sprinkled it into the bowl, along with the lamb blood and the sea brine. A strong odor wafted from the concoction, but Aubrey could barely notice it as she was listening to every word that escaped Balthazar's lips.

"You see," he continued. "He's consolidated his strength and now, he's on the move."

Sam shuffled on his feet. "And where's Cas?"

"Oh, Cassie?" A hint of a smile appeared on Balthazar's mouth, but it disappeared quickly. Aubrey hadn't even wanted to talk about the angel Castiel, upset that he hadn't been answering her prayers. Even yesterday, when Aiden and Greg and Lorraine were being entertained by Dean's Impala, he wouldn't reply. Not even an insinuation of an answer.

A deep frown presented itself on her face when Balthazar said, "He is deep, _deep_ underground. So, good old Raffy put out a hit list on every last Samaritan who helped our dear Cas. Meaning: you"—he pointed at Dean—"you"—Sam—"and more especially, you"—an expectant Aubrey—"more likely because you beat him bloody last time the two of you met."

She wrinkled her nose. "Can't say I've forgotten—"

"But so much more importantly: _me_." Balthazar cut her off, and Aubrey rolled her eyes. He proceeded to mixing the ingredients together with the pestle. He coughed once or twice, though, and they were wheezier than Aubrey was accustomed to, considering he was an angel. She narrowed her eyes at him. "See, he wants to draw Cas out in the open," he continued.

Sam, along with his brother, took several steps closer to the angel. "And you expect us to just believe you?"

"Oh, don't," said Balthazar, dipping his finger into the bowl and starting to draw onto Bobby's foggy window. "You'll go where I throw you either way."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Dean asked.

Balthazar didn't look as if he was about to answer; but either way, behind Sam and Dean, the lights started flickering. Aubrey eyed the bulbs suspiciously.

"That's all the time we have, gentlemen," Balthazar drawled, putting the mortar down. Aubrey tore her gaze away from the light bulbs and looked at what he'd drawn on the window: it was a symbol of some sort, probably Enochian, but nothing she'd ever seen before.

For a moment, she was tempted to ask what it was for, but then Balthazar pulled his jacket aside, murmuring to himself: "Where is it?" He searched the pockets in his jacket, but Aubrey was more focused on the darkened blotch of dried blood on his shirt.

"Where the hell did you get that?" she asked, fear slowly creeping up on her. If Raphael himself was coming for them, they didn't stand a chance. She barely did the last time they'd seen each other; after she beat him into a pulp, he proceeded to beating _her_ into a pulp. That time, she'd already had Cas with her. And he hadn't been injured the way Balthazar was.

He glanced down at the blood stain on his shirt, and then shrugged as if it were nothing. "Oh, garish, I know," the angel said. "You see, uncle Raffy sent one of his nastiest to handle me. I'm flattered, actually—and down a lung, at the moment—but that's alright." He faced Sam, handing him a key. "Here's for you."

Sam stared down at it in confusion. "What am I supposed to do with this?"

"Run with it," Balthazar snapped.

Lightning flashed outside and he was thrown to the back of the room. Books toppled on top of him, but he managed to get his head up. Meanwhile, a man had appeared in the kitchen wearing a dark coat, a hard scowl embedded on his brutish face. His eyes were set on Sam and Dean, but when Balthazar pushed himself onto his feet, his attention moved to him.

"Virgil," exclaimed Balthazar, stumbling on his own feet.

Aubrey knew that she was the only one who actually had the strength to hurt an angel. So, taking a leap of faith, she closed the distance between her and the angel—Virgil. Before he could do anything, she'd reeled her arm back and struck his jaw. It was a solid punch, and he flipped onto his back. Aubrey flexed her hand, grimacing as she could already feel the bruises forming on her knuckles.

Behind her, Balthazar whistled. "Impressive," he said. "There may be hope for you yet. Now, RUN!"

Before Aubrey could turn around and ask him what he meant by _run_, an invisible force rammed into her side and sent her flying. Vaguely, she knew Sam and Dean had been thrown into the air with her as well. They crashed into the window and the glass shattered. For a single moment, Aubrey was stunned with pain, as the wooden frames had broken against her shoulder blade.

She expected hard sheets of rain to slam into her as she and the brothers landed on the dirt outside Bobby's house, but none of these things happened. Instead, warmth was the first thing she felt as soon as the window gave way. And it wasn't hard-packed, cold dirt they landed on—it was something much softer, and somewhat… rubber.

"CUT!"

Her eyes snapped open, and her vision was swimming with blue. It wasn't because of the hit she'd gotten from the window, though; literally, her face was buried in something blue.

Aubrey jumped to her feet, eyeing the object they'd fallen onto with confusion. Then she realized it was a mattress of some sort. Beside her, Sam and Dean pulled themselves onto their feet, albeit shakier than she had. In front of them was a variety of men, a dozen or so, standing behind a contraption that was most probably a control panel. They were clapping, watching her and the brothers with looks of what seemed to be satisfaction on their faces.

There was a hint of movement beside Aubrey, and she brought her fist up, prepared to punch Virgil again (or Balthazar; either one worked, really), but stopped when she saw that it was just a stump of a man. He walked past her and to Dean, slapping Dean's butt.

Dean jumped, and Aubrey's eyes widened in horror.

"Jared, Jensen, outstanding!" someone said from behind the panel. "That was just great." It was an old man, very much older than Bobby. He had a shiny bald head and a wrinkled face, like a turtle if his skin color had been green instead of normal peach.

The man regarded Aubrey with sparkling eyes. "Candice, nice solid fall— good job!"

_Who the fuck is Candice?_ Aubrey thought wildly to herself, spinning around when a young man entered her peripheral vision.

He stood by the window they'd just jumped out of, holding what Aubrey knew to be a digital marker board. "_Supernatural_, scene one echo, take one. Tail slate, marker!" He clapped the marker board shut, and all Aubrey could think of was whether these people were working with Raphael or not.

She shared a panicked look with Sam and Dean, wandering closer to the window they had crashed through. Inside was Bobby's study room… or what _looked_ to be Bobby's study room. There were more strange men inside just as outside. Past the doorway, there were more contraptions that Aubrey didn't even know the names of, but she was positive that Bobby never owned those. Outside every window showed the vast room they were in now which, if Aubrey had to take a guess, was called a "studio".

Sam gulped loudly beside her. "So… no angels?"

She shook her head and swallowed back the lump in her throat. "I don't think so." The men behind the panel had dispersed, but several remained. If they weren't helping pressing buttons on a remote or a phone, they were doing… well, Aubrey didn't know what they were doing. The four who had remained behind the panel seemed to be watching something, talking amongst themselves, but from where she stood, Aubrey was too far to be able to tell what they were saying. And when she could, she didn't understand any of it.

"Should we be killing _anybody_?" Sam asked, now looking quite panicked. He spun on his spot, still in his hunter's crouch, as if he expected Raphael to pop out from one of the giant light bulbs or something.

"I don't think so," Aubrey repeated, frowning down at the window shards beneath their feet. She nudged one with the tip of her boot, and it bent. _Plastic_…_ Where the hell are we?_

"Running?" Dean inquired slowly.

Aubrey shrugged, mystified. "Where?"

Then the voices behind the panel seemed to become louder; loud enough so she could suddenly understand what they were saying.

"Gets us right up to where they…" a tall, dirty blond man was saying. He strode past the panel and threw several pieces of paper onto the floor. He looked rather upset. "Just before they hit the window."

"You know," the turtle-man started. "The part where they hit the window was the good part."

"Well, we can clean up, reset the window—takes about 95 minutes, basically," the tall man said. Aubrey looked to Dean, and saw that he was trying to understand just as much as she was. "So, we'd have to blow off the scene where they sit on the Impala and talk about their feelings." Sam picked up one of the plastic-glass shards from off the floor and showed it to Dean, making it wobble with his fingers.

"Ha! Right!" Turtle-man laughed. "You answer the hate-mail."

"_Or_," the tall man urged. "We could have them fly at the window, then—_FREEZE FRAME_." Aubrey frowned. "Then cut to black, act out."

Aubrey shook her head, trying to clear the confused thoughts and focusing on what she already knew: Raphael was after them. Cas was underground. Balthazar got attacked, but spelled them to someplace else. Bobby and the Bishops were supposedly still in the market, so that was something. Raphael had no reason to come after the Bishops though, but Bobby…

"Moving on!" the tall man's voice boomed throughout the large room, and the lights above them shifted. Suddenly everything was brighter; no longer was the bluish gloom that Aubrey thought real. She flinched slightly as a loud bell rang, and then she was being pulled away by a dark-haired woman.

"Candice, three minutes, alright?" she practically squeaked. _I'm Candice…?_ Aubrey looked over her shoulder and found both Winchester brothers being pulled away by equally older women, but she couldn't suspect that this was some sort of twisted brothel. There were marker boards and cameras and lighting sets…

Then it dawned on her, the answer to just exactly what kind of building they were in—the building, not the universe.

_Oh crap._


	34. Chapter 34

**Last update. ^^ Next one comes next week. Maybe earlier. Maybe later. Depends on the amount of schoolwork... and whether or not we receive make-up classes.**

**Two storms passed here in the Philippines in the past three weeks. Did you know? =))**

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The interviewer wasn't pushy, but throughout almost everything, Aubrey kept her mouth shut. By the time three minutes were over, she'd been able to glean just about everything she needed from the woman. Apparently, Aubrey's "real" name was Candice Accola—or, the name of the actress who _played_ Aubrey, which was her… sort of. She decided not to think about it much.

_Candice_ starred in some TV show called Supernatural. It was in its sixth season, and apparently, she was in the main cast—along with people who were called Jensen Ackles and a Jared Padalecki. Aubrey had to guess that these two were Sam and Dean. What was disturbing was the fact that the interviewer (and probably everyone who watched the show) knew everything there was to know about Aubrey; down from what went down with her parents, to her time in Purgatory. Aubrey was asked to "end their torture" and tell them what was going to happen next for her and the Winchesters.

"Uh, not allowed to tell," Aubrey said slowly, feeling as if she were walking on a tight rope. "The, uh…" For a moment, she struggled to find the right word. "_Director_ told me not to spoil anything." She couldn't tell whether her lost vocabulary was because of the blow to the head from the window, or the nerves. Either way, she hated it.

"Then don't spoil it," the interviewer said, beaming from ear to ear. Her teeth were so white that Aubrey was almost forced to look away. "But tell us this: Are we in for an exciting season finale?"

_Season finale…_ Aubrey barely watched TV, but she knew enough to know what that meant. She schooled on her most playful smile and said, "You bet."

Thankfully, the interviewer was satisfied with that. The woman walked to where Aubrey sat and stood there, facing away from her. It was enough so that Aubrey was out of view from the camera, and she was able to sneak out of her chair and back to where Sam and Dean were waiting for her by "Bobby's window".

"They put freakin' make-up on us," Dean was saying angrily. "Those bastards."

Aubrey came running up to them. "Hey, guys, I think I know what this is."

Sam straightened up. "Yeah, what?"

"This is a _TV show_."

"You think?" Dean scoffed.

"What I mean is: _this_, us." Aubrey gestured wildly to the three of them. "_We're_ a TV show—Dean, Sam, and Aubrey. And who we're seen as _now_ are apparently the people who _play_ Dean, Sam, and Aubrey—in the show. We're actors here, and if I had to guess, where we're standing now is a film set or something."

Sam's thoughts seemed to be going on a hundred miles per hour. "So," he said, "Balthazar zapped us into… some kind of twilight zone?"

"Something like that." Aubrey's frown deepened. "Look, for whatever reason, our life is a TV show."

Dean asked, "Why?"

"I don't know!"

"No, seriously," he urged. "Why? Why would anybody want to watch our lives?"

Aubrey shrugged. "Well, according to that woman who just interviewed me, not very many people do." Dean scowled, before turning away from her and walking down the set. She chased after him, Sam trailing behind her. "Look, I know it doesn't make sense, but we've landed in a dimension where you're Jensen Ackles"—Dean shuddered slightly at the odd name—"And Sam's something called a Jared Padalecki."

"Who makes up a last name like _Padalecki_?" Sam piped up, exasperated.

"Polish people!" Dean exclaimed. Then he was speaking to Aubrey again. "What about you? What are you called?"

She wrinkled her nose. "Candice Accola." Dean actually gagged, and she had to nod her head in agreement. "Yeah, I know, my last name sounds like Coca Cola."

They finally reached the door labeled "EXIT". Dean twisted the knob and they stepped outside. The musky odor of the set was lifted, replaced by the cool fresh air Aubrey was thankful still existed. Apparently, the Exit door led to a parking lot. There weren't many cars as much as there were trailers though. In the middle of the lot, however, was a car Aubrey was surprised to see.

"Well, hey," Dean started, his face already brightening up. "At least my baby made it."

This was, of course, before a man in a black jacket started sprinkling black paint all over the windshield. If Aubrey didn't know better, it would have angered her to no extents, seeing the car she'd grown to care for being violated like that. But she did know better, and she knew that it was a prop. She knew the moment she turned her head and found a line of identical Impalas.

She gripped Dean by his sleeve before he could make a move for the man in the black jacket. "It's a prop, Dean," she said warningly. "They're all props." The older brother looked at her confusedly for a second before he turned his head and saw the line of Impalas. His arm went limp in her clutches, and she let go, staring at the line of black cars because she was just as disturbed as he was.

"I feel sick," he said. "I'm gonna be sick."

Aubrey pursed her lips, but followed him as he walked further into the exterior set. Men holding wooden beams and cardboard props walked by them, some actually nodding their head in greeting. Aubrey eyed a woman who walked by in front of them. She was wearing a black shirt, but printed on the middle was Dean's face. The woman noticed Aubrey staring at her, but then realized she was walking beside the very person she was wearing (literally); she blushed, and then walked off in quick, long strides.

Aubrey whistled. "You have fans, Dean."

"I feel like this place is bad touching me," he exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air. It was the first time Aubrey saw him _not_ happy about having a woman-fan. And the woman-fan was quite attractive, too.

"Yeah, I know; me too," Sam agreed quickly. "So what do you think? Cas?"

"Will he even answer?" Aubrey grumbled, still upset with the angel. She probably sounded childish to the boys, considering they'd been dumped by the angel more times than she'd been, but she couldn't help it. Once, during the first few days of Sam being given his soul back, she had asked Castiel whether he would answer any of her calls considering Aiden, and he had said yes.

Yesterday, she called. He didn't come. All Aubrey knew was, if he came when Sam and Dean asked for help on _this_, she was going to hit him—preferably harder than the last time she'd hit him, which was quite a while back.

"Look, Aub," Dean said. "I am _not_ staying here. He's our best shot if he's still alive."

She hesitated, knowing that it was the truth. She didn't want to stay either. "Call him, then." _If you come, I swear to God…_

Dean closed his eyes and spread his hands out in front of him, like he always did whenever he called for Cas. "Dear Castiel, who art… maybe running his ass away from heaven"—Aubrey smirked slightly—"we pray that you have your ears on. So… breaker, breaker…"

It wasn't a bad prayer, because this way, Cas would know that it was, without a doubt, Dean who was calling. Who else would call him though? It wasn't like he had a very long list of human friends; there was her, Sam, Dean, and Bobby. If there were more, it wasn't anything he'd ever mentioned before, which would surely bring another knuckle to the face from Aubrey.

For a while, she and the brothers said nothing, waiting for the sound of flapping wings to alert them of the much awaited arrival. None came. And then Dean turned his head and, past the doorway they were standing by, there stood Castiel. Dean was the first to rush to the angel, who was standing idly in the middle of a driveway.

Feeling her insides bubbling in fury, Aubrey made a move to follow Dean, flexing her knuckles even though the bruise there had already healed. But then Sam stopped her by grabbing her arm, and she was forced to look at him.

"Don't hit him," he told her sternly. "Not until we get the information we need to get out of here. Then you can hit him."

Aubrey scoffed. "You think I'm some mugger or something?" At the look on Sam's face, she deflated slightly. "Fine."

"Aubrey, promise me."

"_I promise_," she told him. "Can we please go there now? Dean looks like he's really messing with Cas' tiny brain." Sam regarded her with a look that was close to empathy, but the expression on her face must have conveyed the words she wouldn't say out loud. He looked away, and together they made their way to Dean and Castiel.

"So?" Sam said as soon as they were close enough. "What exactly did Balthazar do to us?"

Dean didn't say anything, but instead nodded at Cas. The angel seemed to understand, for he cleared his throat and opened his mouth to say something. Just then, Aubrey already knew that something was wrong. Cas _never_ cleared his throat; she had learned long ago that angels didn't need that kind of shit to be able to talk properly. She eyed Cas with a newfound suspiciousness as he spoke:

"To keep you out of Virgil's reach," he said, "He's cast you into an alternate reality; a universe similar to ours in most respects, yet dramatically different in others." Aubrey knew for a fact that Cas didn't talk like that either.

"Like… _Bizzaro_ Earth, right?" Dean said. "And, instead of having Bizarro Superman, we get this clown factory."

"Um…" Castiel pursed his lips. "Yeah, well, anyway—no time to explain." He raised his eyes to look at Sam. "Do you have the key?"

"Yeah." Sam started fishing the key out of his pocket, and as soon as it was out, he handed it to the angel. "So, what does it do anyway?"

"It opens a room."

"What's in the room?" inquired Dean.

"Every weapon Balthazar stole from heaven."

Aubrey was only half-paying attention by that time. From where she stood, she could see a wad of papers wedged inside Cas' coat, in an interior pocket. A few bold letters stood out, several of which were separated by the ripples in the paper. Aubrey was so focused on deciphering the few letters she could see that she barely noticed Castiel was staring at her. She regarded him with a cold expression, but said nothing, and didn't stop with her trying to decipher the letters.

Some part of her already knew that the man in front of her wasn't Castiel—or, at least, wasn't the Castiel they were looking for.

"He gave it to us?" Dean said.

"To keep it safe until I could reach you," the man in the trench coat replied. "With those weapons, I have a chance to rally my forces."

Aubrey's suspicions were confirmed when she finally understood what the bold letters on the paper read. Sam was about to ask something about the dimension they were in, but Aubrey stopped him from embarrassing them (and confusing "Castiel") further.

"Save it, guys," she told the brothers. "He's not Cas."

Dean frowned in confusion. "But—"

"Look at this!" Aubrey shot forward and slipped her hand into the dark-haired man's trench coat. He exclaimed in protest, calling her by the name _Candice_, which annoyed her to impossible extents. Before he could say more, she'd already pulled her hand out, along with the wad of paper that held the word **SCRIPT** at the top.

"He's reciting lines from a script," she snapped, flipping through the pages. "And his name's _Misha_." She shoved the papers into Misha's hands none too gently. Now that she was positive that it wasn't Castiel, she had no dignity to lose.

Misha stared at her, apparently lost with where the conversation was going. "Um, Candice, are you okay?" A slight laugh entered his voice and he slipped the script back into his trench coat, before proceeding to loosen his neck tie. Aubrey rolled her eyes, but looked to the Winchesters for a hint on what they were going to do next.

"What kind of person names their kid _Misha_?" Dean demanded. He and the other two hunters watched with wide eyes as the dark-haired man in front of them unbuttoned his dress shirt, revealing a blue t-shirt underneath. Aubrey stared at the childish drawing printed on it in disgust, but she couldn't help but wonder what Cas _really_ wore beneath his suit…

Sam was grumbling below his breath as he tore the keys out of Misha's hand. Then they were stalking away from the man, no real destination planted in their heads and all Aubrey could think about was whether Bobby and the Bishops had gotten back to the house or not.

Behind them, Misha started laughing loudly. "You guys!" he called to them. "You really punked me!" There was the sound of rustling paper, and Aubrey turned her head just in time to find Misha's script land on the pavement behind her feet. "I'm totally gonna tweet this one!" the man continued, and she watched as he took out his cellphone, smiling wildly. Castiel never smiled like that before, though obviously he would have looked very much the same if he did.

"I can't believe I didn't notice," Aubrey muttered below her breath, cursing inwardly. How hadn't she? Castiel's eyes were much brighter than the ones Misha had shown her. She started wondering whether Misha was required to wear contacts or not in order to play the role of the angel. But then she shook her head, because she wasn't supposed to be thinking so deeply about either of those men in the first place.

After several minutes of walking, she and the boys found themselves standing in front of a large, black trailer. It didn't look very fancy outside, though it was certainly cleaner than the others they had passed. And the name printed on the label on top of the door further clarified _why_ it was so clean.

"'J. Ackles'," Sam read, pointing at the sign so Dean could see.

"That's fake me," said Dean, pointing at himself. Sam nodded. Dean then spread his arms and gestured to the trailer. "This must be fake mine!"

"You don't need to tell me twice," Aubrey told them both, beating them to the door and rushing through it. She wanted some peace from the staring people and the hard sun.

The first thing she noticed was the gigantic fish tank embedded within the wall. Next was the toy helicopter on the desk. After that was the flat screen TV attached to the wall across the room. Then came the dozen trophies placed on pedestals _beside_ said TV. Aubrey, however, was interested in none of these things (except, perhaps, for the helicopter). She'd already slipped into the booth beside the window and in front of a laptop by the time Sam and Dean had followed her into the trailer.

"Dude," Dean said. "I have a _helicopter_." He sounded more happy than shocked.

"Woah," Sam exclaimed. Aubrey raised her head quickly to see what he was referring to before continuing her task on the browser. "Who puts a 300-gallon aquarium in their trailer?"

"Apparently, Jensen Ackles."

Aubrey wasn't looking up who Candice Accola was; that would have been too disturbing, even for her. But the idea was tempting. No, she was searching who Jensen Ackles was. It wasn't very hard; apparently, his name was well-known to the Google people.

"Found you," Aubrey murmured as she clicked on the link. "Hey,_ Jensen Ackles_." She smirked when Dean turned around to throw her a dirty look. She nodded to the screen of the laptop. "Have a look at your biography."

Dean sauntered over to where she sat, but settled to lean against the back of the booth instead. "_Jensen Ross Ackles, born March 1, 1978_," he read, "_Is an American actor and director._ Damn, I'm a director too?" Aubrey flicked his ear lightly, causing him to flinch away, but he returned a second after to continue reading: "_He is known for his roles in television as Eric Brady in Days of Our Lives_—"

"Hey, Brenna Dobbs mentioned that show to me," Sam interrupted, earning him a glare from Dean.

"—_which earned him several Daytime Emmy Award nominations, as well as Alec/X5-494 in Dark Angel and Jason Teague in Smallville._ Anyone know what a 'Smallville' is?" Aubrey pursed her lips. "No? Great." Dean sighed loudly, running a hand across his face. "_Ackles currently stars as Dean Winchester on the CW series Supernatural._ Jeez, dude, this is giving me a serious headache."

Aubrey readjusted the laptop so it was facing her now. She scrolled down to **Early life**. "Says here that you were born in Texas." Her eyebrows rose. "You have an older brother and a younger sister, and that you have English, Irish, and Scottish ancestry." She scrolled further down until she was looking at his **Personal life**. A smile spread on her face as she read the single paragraph that was on there. "And apparently, you're married!"

"What?! To who?" Dean tore the laptop away from her hands and read the paragraph himself. "Can you look for a picture?"

"No duh," Aubrey muttered, but opened a tab for Google Images anyway. She typed in his supposed wife's name—Danneel Harris. Apparently, internet was fast in film sets, because the page was loaded in less than five seconds. On the screen were several pictures of a beautiful woman, with chocolate hair and warm brown eyes; her smile was dazzling. Aubrey heard Dean sigh in relief behind her.

"Well," he said. "At least I'm not totally hopeless."

"You have a baby too, but that's no surprise." Aubrey grinned when Dean punched her arm lightly. "And you were on a soap opera." The older brother stopped in his tracks. _If I had to guess…_ Her hand travelled to the remote sitting across the table. She pressed the On button, and the TV sprang to life.

A golden-haired woman's face dominated the screen, and her lips were moving, but Aubrey couldn't care less for what she was saying. She waited for the camera to change focus, and when it did, a handsome, fetus-faced Dean was waiting for her. Aubrey had expected it to be hilarious, but it turned out to be incredibly mortifying—more so for Dean, she was sure. She turned the television off before _Eric_ could finish his line.

"I don't like this universe, Aubrey," Dean said; his voice cracked. "We need to get out of this universe." Aubrey bobbed her head quickly, still gulping down the bile that had risen to her throat.

Sam stood in front of the television, staring at it with a pale face. "Yeah, no argument here," he said. "But I don't think our prayers are reaching Cas—or, the _real_ Cas."

_Or he just won't listen,_ Aubrey thought to herself grumpily, letting the laptop Sleep.

"Yeah," Dean agreed. "I think we are definitely out of _soul-phone_ range."

Aubrey's glare turned icy as she stared at the back of his head, but she was thankful that he didn't let the pun stick around longer than was necessary. "But!" He snatched a yellow pad and a pen from the table by the TV, waving it in front of Sam before taking the cap off the pen. "If we can reverse Balthazar's spell… We just get the ingredients right, get back to that same window, and…?"

"There's no place like home," Aubrey finished for him. There was, however, a gaping hole in the plan. "But Dean, Balthazar had drawn a symbol on the window. Do you even remember what it looked like?"

"No," the hunter replied, walking back to her and placing the pad and pen into her hands. "But I know you do." Aubrey stared down at the yellow paper in uncertainty, tapping the pen against her leg. Dean stared. "Right?"

She let the moment sink in for a few seconds before smiling widely. "'Course I do."

* * *

**That J. Ackles biography literally came right off of Wikipedia though. xDD SO I DON'T OWN THAT EITHER.**

**And hey. Review. [wink wink]**


	35. Chapter 35

**three chapters for you today, so i can conclude with The French Mistake. ^^**

**I DO NOT OWN SUPERNATURAL OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS; ONLY AUBREY AND MY OTHER OC'S, AND THE ADDED IDEAS TO THE CONCEPT OF PHOENIXES.**

* * *

At the end of the day, the three of them ended up going to Sam-Jared's house. None of the ingredients they needed for the spell could be found at the set, most probably because everything was a prop.

Said "house" was more of a mansion, really, maybe as big as five of Bobby's houses. And that wasn't including the backyard, which had an alpaca in it. ("It's a camel!" Dean argued, but Aubrey just rolled her eyes.) Inside the house was massive, with sculptures and a grand staircase, and even from where Aubrey stood by the entrance, she could see a balcony not far off on the second floor. There were chandeliers too. Aubrey stared up at them, squinting as her vision started to turn loopy and the bright lights seared into her brain.

"Nice _modest_ digs, Jay-Z," Dean said, gawking around the large maple-walled cavern that was the entry room.

"Wow," Sam breathed. "I must be the star of this thing."

"Yeah right," Aubrey retorted, though her voice sounded small and weak as she took in the height of the room. "_We're_ the main cast. I can't wait to see Dean's… Jensen's house."

He didn't laugh. "Can't wait to see Candice's." As Aubrey walked deeper into the room, she vaguely noticed the boys stop following her. She turned around, and found them staring down at what looked to be a shiny grey coffin in repulsion.

Sam frowned deeply. "What am I—Dracula?"

His brother wandered over to the coffin and pulled the lid open. Seeing the lines of bulbs behind the lid, Dean scoffed and said, "George Hamilton Dracula."

"He's a TV star; what'd you expect?" Aubrey grumbled lightly, switching her gaze from the tanning bed to the colorful painting behind the boys. It wasn't until she looked closer that she realized it was three portraits of Sam—or rather, Jared Padalecki, stuck together on the wall. The intense smolder on his face looked so out of place, Aubrey had the sudden urge to gag.

Instead, she clawed on Sam's arm and forced him to look at the painting. He was just as disturbed as she was. "Jesus Christ—" Then Aubrey noticed the nearly identical portrait at the other end of the room, and her disgust turned to confusion. Before she could ask either of the brothers who the woman on the portrait was, she heard footsteps coming from upstairs.

"I still don't know why you have a camel in your backyard…" Dean was grumbling, already having made his way to the drinking station by the backdoor.

Aubrey froze as the footsteps came to an abrupt stop.

"It's an alpaca, dumbass."

Her head swiveled upward and to the side where she assumed the voice had come from. Leaning against the second floor railings was a beautiful woman with black hair. She was in a black dress, and the light from the chandeliers illuminated the necklace that dangled by her neck. It was the same woman from the portrait Aubrey had previously been staring at, and if she had to guess, then this woman had to be—

"Ruby?" Dean's voice was almost muted, but the woman heard anyway. She sighed loudly, rolling her eyes as she disappeared from view. More footsteps, and Aubrey assumed that she was on her way down the stairs.

Aubrey quickly glanced at the brothers, panicked. "_That's_ Ruby? The-bitch-who-tried-to-kill-you _Ruby_?" She kept her voice down in hopes that the woman—Ruby, if they could prove it—wouldn't get upset. Neither of the brothers seemed to have noticed the paintings behind them, though, because they didn't seem to be piecing it together. "Guys, look behind y—"

"'Ruby'. Right," Ruby interrupted, stepping into the entry room and looking at the three hunters in forced amusement. "That one _never_ gets old." Aubrey retreated several steps backward until she was standing beside Dean by the alcohol station. "How was work today, hon'?" said Ruby, right before stepping up to Sam and kissing him full on the lips.

The expensive bottle of whiskey would have toppled over because of Aubrey's startled step back, if Dean hadn't caught it. He threw Aubrey a half-hearted warning glance, one she returned with a _what-the-hell_ look. Dean returned that one as well.

Meanwhile, Sam had gently peeled Ruby off of him and laid her down gently on the couch. She sat there, looking moderately confused with the look Sam was giving her. Dean rushed to meet his brother and tugged his shoulder back.

"Wait," he started, holding up a finger. "You and _Ruby_?"

Said-"demon" rolled her eyes and adjusted the purse on her lap. "Do you honestly think that's funny, Jensen?" she said, and Aubrey couldn't help but notice her slight lisp.

"Right, 'cause—you're not Ruby. You… I mean, how could you be?" Dean struggled to find the words. "You are the… lovely actress who plays Ruby! And you are, uh, in… _Jared's_ house, because you are…"

Aubrey rolled her eyes. "They're married, _Jensen_." Honestly, the boys could be so slow at times that she often wondered how they ever got by as hunters. "Married," she repeated, nodding at the framed picture sitting on the mantelpiece across the room, beside a picture of an alpaca and a dog.

"Married!" Dean repeated loudly.

He and his brother stared at the picture as they muttered incoherent things to each other. Aubrey was just about to join them when she felt a hand grasp her wrist and pull her down. Her butt hit the soft cushion of the sofa and she was now sitting beside fake-Ruby, who linked her arm through Aubrey's. Aubrey was too startled with the act to actually remove herself, so she remained there, absolutely frozen.

"Seriously, Candice," fake-Ruby said, sighing softly. "How can you stand spending every day with them? I mean, when they're separated, it's fine, but whenever they're together they get so crazy." She shook her head. "I don't know how you do it."

Aubrey didn't know either. She let out a nervous laugh, thinking it was what Candice would do, and shrugged. "Takes a lot of practice." And it was partly true, because she'd spent nearly half her childhood growing up with them, and then now, in her adulthood, she was still spending her time with men. If she hadn't learned at an early age how they acted, she was sure she would have died of annoyance by now.

Sam and Dean were still staring at the pictures on the mantelpiece, and beside her, Aubrey felt fake-Ruby pat her arm.

"What are you doing?" asked fake-Ruby. Aubrey threw Dean a pointed glare, but he just shrugged.

"Work!" Sam said, smiling anxiously. "Work, you know—"

"Yeah." Dean was quick to agree. "Yeah, just thought I'd pop in, say hey…" He waved an awkward hand. "Hey." Aubrey sighed inwardly in relief because fake-Ruby seemed to be easing up. Aubrey was surprised with herself as well, because she too was starting to feel comfortable with the actress' arm looped around hers.

"And maybe we'd run some lines," Dean added. "It's, uh…"

Fake-Ruby narrowed her eyes slightly. "You've never even been to our house."

"Now that I know there's an alpaca out back, I'm definitely coming back!"

"Well, alpacas _are_ the greenest animal."

Closely sitting beside the speaker of the statement, Aubrey couldn't help the large grin that threatened to spread across her face. It became increasingly difficult as she watched Dean try to compose himself. "Right, right," he told Sam matter-of-factly. "That is so important."

Aubrey bit her lip and, trying to keep the laughter back, threw Dean a warning look. Before he could acknowledge it, though, fake-Ruby had pulled herself, along with Aubrey, to their feet. "Well, there's that thing I have to get to," she told the boys. Aubrey started wondering whether she was meant to go with her or not, and she was sincerely hoping for the _not_.

"Oh, yeah," Sam said, bobbing his head slowly. "Of course, yeah, the thing…"

"The—the dinner, right?" Aubrey added, and when she said that, she was practically grasping onto a straw.

Fake-Ruby's arm tightened around hers, and it was all she could do not to let out a yelp of surprise. "See?" the woman said. "Even Candice remembers."

Aubrey cleared her throat. "So, it's the dinner thing, yeah?"

"The International Otter Adoption Charity Dinner, yes!" Fake-Ruby hugged her, and from over her shoulder, Aubrey sent the brothers surprised looks. They returned it with wide eyes, though they were looking at something a little lower than just Ruby's back…

_Boys._ Aubrey rolled her eyes, but schooled on an easy expression as fake-Ruby finally pulled away. "Okay, anyway, I've got to run." She gave Aubrey a quick peck on the cheek (Aubrey barely held it together enough to not reel back), before moving onto Sam again. Fake-Ruby pulled herself up onto her tippy toes and kissed the tall hunter again, forcing Aubrey to look away. From the corner of her eye, she could see Dean doing the same thing with a revolted expression on his face.

"I'm glad you two are talking, anyway," said fake-Ruby when she pulled away. She started for the entrance, only glancing over her shoulder to wave a goodbye to Aubrey. "Candice," she called. "Say hi to Joe for me!"

"Got it," Aubrey replied. Then the actress was out the door, and Aubrey slowly turned around and regarded the boys with a curious look. "I'm guessing Jared and Jensen got into a pretty bad fight." The brothers nodded in agreement. "And who the hell is Joe?"

"Looks like you did alright, dude," Dean told his brother, clapping him on the back and completely ignoring Aubrey's question. Judging from the wonderstruck looks on their faces, she guessed that they'd been staring at fake-Ruby's butt for at least half the conversation.

She scoffed, pushing past their large figures and making for the laptop in the living room. "Come on, boys. Time to do some shopping."

"Does Jared Padalecki have a mall in his house too?" Sam asked, sounding earnest.

"He has laptops for sure."

"We don't have money for online shopping, Aub," Dean contradicted.

With pursed lips, she turned around and regarded the two with an impatient expression. "Jared Padalecki does. And so does Jensen Ackles, _and_ Candice Accola." They looked rather sheepish, but she waved them off. "But Jared's credits cards are the only ones that are here for sure, so we'll stick with those. We can finish the purchasing tonight, get them as soon as they come, and finish up with the spell. Home sweet home."

It wasn't the absolute worst plan she'd ever come up with. Sam shrugged. "Let's hope Jared has billion dollar credit, then."

"Of course he does," said Aubrey, smirking. "He _is_ the star of the show."

* * *

The next morning, their first trip was to the airport. Aubrey was duly surprised that Jared's private driver, Clif, didn't question them until they had arrived at said airport and Sam held the package on his lap. Clif asked if they were doing anything illegal, and Sam shrugged.

"Would it make you feel better if we said no?" he said.

"Not really." Clif looked to Aubrey. "Candice?"

"Hm?" Aubrey said, playing stupid because she didn't know what her answer would be yet. If he was asking her after asking Sam, then she must have been the good girl of the bunch or something because everyone was looking to her for answers. And if she was going to answer, she might as well make it an educated answer.

"We doing anything illegal?" Clif repeated.

Then, Aubrey flashed her most charming smile. "Close. But no, it's legal. Trust me."

The journey back to the set was ridden in silence, mostly because they couldn't discuss their plans in front of their driver, who would think they were turning into lunatics. When they arrived at the set, Dean was the only one who didn't wave and say thank you to Clif, but Aubrey couldn't blame him. The task soon became troublesome, because Clif kept asking when they wanted him to pick them up, and she wouldn't provide him an answer because she honestly didn't have one.

"We'll just call you," she ended up saying, and that was the end of that.

Dean was already waiting for them in "Bobby's study". As they walked in, the older hunter was busy cutting the tape off the package. Sam rushed into the room and snatched a wooden bowl from one of the cupboards, placing it on the desk. Before they could even open the flaps of the package, lights suddenly started turning on with booming noises all around them.

The darkness of the room left them and, behind Aubrey, she heard distant voices getting closer and closer. "… finish today in 12 hours if it kills us all." She knew the first voice to be turtle-man's and her gut wrenched immediately. "Get A and B cam for scene 12, and—" Aubrey stepped back, regarding the turtle-man in front of her nervously.

"What is this?" he said, with a delighted smile spreading across his cheeks. He even _sounded_ like a turtle. "Here for the first run-through before anyone else? Dedication!"

Aubrey slid behind Sam, who took the boxed package into his hands and walked off. She followed and glanced over her shoulder to find Dean talking with the turtle-man, making awkward gestures with his hands. Aubrey prayed (if God even did exist in this universe) that he was saying all the right things.

Sam led them to the side of the set, where three black actor's chairs were waiting for them. Each one had a name printed in white across the front. Sam placed the package on the one labeled **"J. Ackles"** and sat himself down on Jared's seat. Aubrey quickly slipped into Candice's, wrinkling her nose at the strong scent of perfume. She sprayed perfume on her _chair_? _Really—_

"Ooh, 'priority'," Misha said from behind her, making Aubrey jump in surprise at the sudden sound of his voice. "What's in it?" He leaned over her shoulder, staring down at the box sitting between her and Sam. She did her best not to glare, but was fairly positive that a low snarl escaped her lips.

Sam looked rather uninterested. "I bought parts of a dead person," he replied simply, his eyes trained on Dean, who was having a serious talk with the turtle-man.

Aubrey's eyes widened and she gawked at Sam, not quite believing that he'd said something like that so carelessly. "What he means is," she added quickly, "The plastic ones—you know, like toys, the ones you use for Halloween."

Misha frowned. "But it's the middle of the year."

"It's for this stupid project… _Jensen's_ come up with." She bit her lip, putting to thought that this man knew Sam and Dean as Jared and Jensen. "Just, you know, for actor stuff."

"Yeah, they've been mentioning actor stuff a lot," said Misha, chuckling lightly. "I'm surprised you haven't gotten infected."

It still sounded so odd to Aubrey, the fact that Castiel, the angel she'd once labeled as her guardian, was looking over her shoulder talking to her about the oddities that were Sam and Dean Winchester—except that it wasn't Castiel. It was the man who portrayed him. It wasn't hard to see the differences: Castiel almost never smiled, and Misha _laughed_, quite often; Castiel felt uncomfortable being too close to anyone, but Aubrey could practically feel Misha's breath fanning the bend of her neck; Castiel wasn't a big fan of cellphones, but Misha had a fancy one in his hand as he talked with Aubrey.

Misha folded his arms over each other and positioned them on the back of Aubrey's chair, placing his head atop the stack. "How are you, Candice?" he asked, seemingly earnest. "It's been a while since we talked."

"I'm fine, I guess," Aubrey answered uncertainly. She racked her brain for anything else that could relate to an actor's life. "Considering the show and all, I'm sort of okay."

"I know, but I was talking about Joe," Misha said, and Aubrey cursed inwardly. "I heard you guys got into a fight. How bad was it?"

"Not too bad…" Aubrey grumbled. "He was stressed, I was stressed; you know how that works." She hoped that she was making sense, because she honestly didn't know who the hell Joe was supposed to be. Was he her brother or something? The way fake-Ruby had told her to say hi to him for her could be proof that he was, in fact, related to Candice, but Aubrey couldn't tell.

Misha seemed to have bought it though. "Yeah, I know," he said. "Vic and I get into fights all the time. Everything gets better though, once you cool down and talk about it."

Was that his impression of good advice? "Uh, thanks, Misha, I guess…" Who the heck was _Vic_?

"By the way," he said, followed by the light tinkling of what sounded like a key. "Here." He dangled a single key over her shoulder, which she took uncertainly. "For the shoot," he explained, and she nodded hastily.

Misha patted her shoulder, making her leg flinch instinctively. Thankfully, he didn't notice, settling back into his chair. Aubrey let out an inaudible sigh of relief, but her reprieve was short-lived when she noticed Dean walking towards them with a rather grim expression on his face.

"What is it?" Sam asked immediately, leaning forward.

"Bad news," the hunter replied. "Looks like we're gonna have to do a little, uh… _acting_."

Aubrey's heart dropped. "You're kidding me."


	36. Chapter 36

**get ready for some serious humor in this one... i hope it's funny. sometimes i think my sense of humor has gone whack. [shrug]**

**I don't own anything except for my OC's.**

* * *

Aubrey stared down at the script in her hands with insecurity. "So," she started slowly. "I just have to _be_ Sam, basically."

"Basically," the turtle-man repeated. "Seeing as Jared won't be up to acting any time soon, you'll get all his lines. Misha's gonna edit some of his script so that he'll be talking to you instead of Sam." He took a short pause. "Let's just say Sam had to go to the bathroom and it's just you, Dean, and Castiel in this scene."

"So Jensen's still in this one," said Aubrey, pointing over her shoulder at Dean, who was standing awkwardly in the middle of the set, rocking on his feet.

"Yep," turtle-man said, with a hint of melancholy in his voice. "Jensen's still in this one. Let's pray he'll actually say his lines right for once." The last bit he had said under his breath, but Aubrey still heard it. She rolled her eyes but she knew he was right. Apparently, Jensen Ackles and Jared Padalecki were very good actors. If she and Dean were going to keep trouble away from them, they had to be less suspicious and more normal.

She really didn't know what was going on with the two Winchesters; normally they were very good actors. Whenever they would sweep into a job as an FBI agent or a news reporter, they always did a damn good job. What was happening now? As turtle-man sauntered back to the console a little ways from "Bobby's study", Aubrey dragged Dean to the side of the set and muttered hotly into his ear.

"If you want to get out of here with minimal universe-changes, I suggest you do better," she told him sternly. Several of the filming crews threw them curious glances, but she returned their stares with her own cool ones. "So act your ass off, because you are not Dean Winchester, you are _Jensen Ackles_, star of this goddamn show and winner of multiple trophies!"

"Don't you know how hard it is?" he demanded, throwing his arms about. "I mean, have you _seen_ the script?"

"Yes, I've seen the script," she retorted. "I don't see what's so difficult. You don't even have to say the lines exactly right. It just has to be close enough for Misha to be able to form a proper reply!"

Dean's face fell. "Oh… I didn't know that."

"It's called _improv_, Dean," she practically hissed, folding her script and shoving it into her jeans' back pocket. "You ready?"

She heard no reply, as she had already turned around and walked back onto the middle of the set. But what she did hear, very vaguely, was Dean murmuring something about her being on her period. Or something along those lines. Either way, all the impatience she'd felt towards the hunter suddenly bubbled up her throat. She whirled around to face him again, eyes blazing, and she had enough time to register the fear that jumped into his eyes before turtle-man was talking to them again.

"Let's get this show back on the road, people!" he called, clapping loudly. "We have two scenes left and they're not gonna shoot themselves! Misha, back on set, please."

As Misha approached her wearily, Aubrey shot Dean one final dark look before straightening her blouse, taking deep, calming breaths. It wouldn't do for her to be angry with him, not when they were in a place none of them knew much about. She gestured for him to come closer, softening her voice. "Come on," she said. And after a moment of expectancy, he walked over to her so that they were practically shoulder to shoulder. "You remember your lines?" she asked, to which he nodded. "Remember: improv. Just act like your same, douche self and we'll be fine. Here we go."

A crew member walked into the set, standing right between the valley between her and Dean, and Misha. He brandished the digital marker board, said, "_Supernatural_, scene 36, take 21. Marker!" and then clapped the board. Aubrey's eyes didn't follow him as he rushed out of sight of the camera. Aubrey schooled on a confused expression, which was what she assumed her character was supposed to be feeling while she pre-read the script.

"Action!" turtle-man yelled, and her stomach twisted in on itself.

"Balthazar is no hero," said Misha, using the low and raspy tone that Castiel was apparently created to have. "But he knows Raphael will never take him back."

Aubrey silently prayed to herself that Dean knew what the parentheses meant in _grimly_.

"But somehow you got no problem with it," he stated, thankfully, in his normal voice, and with a normal facial expression. "You're all caught up in this heaven and hell crap that you're becoming total assholes. Didn't God teach you _any_ morals?"

_Thank God,_ Aubrey thought to herself, but still minding enough the scene unfolding before her. She and Dean were having an argument with Castiel in this scene, and she knew that she wasn't going to be 'acting' very much; she was furious with the angel, but apparently the producers already knew that.

"And what about you, Dean?" Misha said pointedly. "Your family is as caught up with this whole situation as I am."

"That's because we have no other choice," Aubrey interjected, a defensive tone creeping into her voice. "We didn't choose for Balthazar to throw the keys to us. We didn't even want him flying to Bobby's study in the first place."

Somehow, she'd still managed to remember the lines even though she'd only scanned through it for a whole of two minutes. She was actually proud of herself, but the true anger for the angel was starting to bubble up, and she struggled to keep it down. Otherwise, she could have started hitting Misha, whose artificial voice resembled nothing like Castiel's.

"Speaking of keys," stated said actor after a minute of scripted silence. "Do you have it?"

"Yeah, I have it," Aubrey said, but held out on fishing the key out of her pocket. "But first, what's it for?" _Jeez, the script writers are crappy._

"It opens a room," Misha replied, repeating the same lines he'd said to them the previous day during their first encounter.

"What's in the room?" Dean asked, and Aubrey knew that he was thinking the same things she was thinking.

"Every weapon Balthazar stole from heaven."

"And he gave it to us?"

"To keep it safe, until I could reach you." Misha held his hand out and shook his fingers subtly. Aubrey quickly took the single key he'd given to her earlier in the day out of her front pocket. She gingerly placed it in the palm of his hand, watching as he closed his fingers around it. "With those weapons, I have a chance to rally my forces."

"Got it," Aubrey said. "But if there's a key, then there must be a lock." She looked at Misha earnestly, tilting her head. "Where's the room?"

He shook his head. "I'm afraid I can't tell you that." Then he tilted his head upwards, at a window nobody else was seeing—exactly the same way Castiel did. Aubrey felt her heartbeat falter slightly before getting back on track. "I must go."

Aubrey rolled her eyes. "You always say that."

"CUT!"

_Shit, that wasn't part of my line._ Sheepishly, she turned her head to face the turtle-man, whose eyes were bright, like a proud papa.

"Great shoot, Candice!" he told her. "Jensen, keep doing what you're doing. But please, let's stick as close to the original script as we can, okay? And Candice, remember, Aubrey is feeling conflicted about her feelings for Castiel. She's not angry—she's conflicted."

_I'm angry. The script is bullcrap. _"Right," Aubrey replied half-heartedly, inching closer to Dean and fishing out the script from her pocket. In front of them, Misha was having his hair retouched. Aubrey did her best to keep her eyes off him and on the script instead. She raked through her lines, flinching slightly when Dean touched her shoulder.

"What the hell was that?" he asked, sounding more urgent than he needed to be.

"I got carried away," Aubrey grumbled in reply, shoving the script into his hands. "Here, review." He didn't say more.

_He's not Cas, he's not Cas, he's not Cas…_ Aubrey kept repeating to herself, her eyes often flicking to where Misha stood to find that he was watching her as well. His hair artist was gone, and he looked as if he was contemplating the idea of coming over to where she and Dean stood.

Not wanting that to happen, she snatched the script back from Dean's hands and refolded it, once again shoving it deep into her pocket. "Ready," she said, loud enough for the turtle-man to hear from where he sat behind the panel.

The dark-skinned man with the marker board came running into the scene. "_Supernatural_, scene 36, take 22. Marker!" He clapped the board shut before running out of camera view once more.

"And…" turtle-man drawled. "Action!"

"I must go," Misha repeated, looking upwards again at the window that wasn't there.

"Of course, Cas," Aubrey said softly, walking up to Misha and putting a hand on his shoulder because her script required her to do so. "I hope the weapons help you." Misha looked at her, nodded once, then looked up at the ceiling again.

There were a few moments of silence. Aubrey didn't let her eyes flicker to the sides, but she wanted to; she wasn't sure if Dean had forgotten to say a line or not, or if she'd forgotten. Then: "CUT!" She let out a loud sigh of relief and hastily pulled her hand off Misha's shoulder, initially backing away from him so that she was once again standing shoulder to shoulder with Dean.

"Wonderful!" said turtle-man's voice from the side of the set. "Alright, let's take 5 before one more shot."

"That means five minutes, right?" Dean asked in a quiet voice beside her. Aubrey nodded her head quickly before grabbing his sleeve and pulling him to where Sam sat a little far off from "Bobby's study". She plopped down on her seat, pulling the script out again and rereading her lines.

"And, one more shot means…?" Dean looked at her questioningly.

"We're gonna reshoot the scene," Aubrey said. "Same lines, same everything."

"Why do we have to reshoot?"

"So they can get all the shots they need for the scene."

Dean said nothing more, which was odd. Aubrey turned her head and found him staring at her with an odd expression. Behind him, Sam cradled their package on his lap like a baby but Aubrey tried to ignore that. "Did you go to film school or something?" Dean said, not unfriendly.

She frowned. "My mom did," said Aubrey softly. "Didn't I tell you that before?"

"No," the hunter replied, before patting her back gently. "Sorry, Aub—I mean, Candice." She shot him a questioning look, and he pursed his lips and shook his head, his pupils switching from her to the side. That was when Aubrey noticed, from the corner of her eye, Misha sitting behind them in his own chair, watching them and, quite possibly, filming them—as his phone was held out subtly in front of him that it was very well probable.

Aubrey cleared her throat and leaned across Dean, swiping a finger over Sam's shoulder roughly. He turned his head to face her. "Everything's in the box?" she asked, to which he nodded. "You checked?" He nodded again. "Alright. We're gonna take one more shoot. Then I reckon turtle-man over there—"

"Turtle-man?" Sam cut in, raising an eyebrow.

"The director," Aubrey quickly explained. "I reckon he'll let us take a break before the next scene. We'll have enough time to finish the spell, and we're home sweet home."

Sam bobbed his head in understanding. Aubrey's eyes shot downwards; she noticed his hands tighten around the box, almost protectively. She understood the defensiveness he felt, for she wanted to get back home as much as he did. She just wished she didn't have to share another scene with a certain trench coat wearing actor.

* * *

The spell didn't work; Aubrey couldn't believe it. After all the crap they'd went through, the lying they'd had to do in the span of a day and a half, it didn't work. She, Sam, and Dean had retreated back to Jensen's trailer to recuperate. As she sat herself down on the floor, Aubrey could feel the large bruise on her upper right arm start to heal.

"Maybe we did it wrong," she muttered, grimacing slightly.

"No," Dean instantly replied. "No, that spell was perfect. It should have worked.

"What if it can't?" came Sam's sudden statement. Aubrey raised her eyes and looked over at him questioningly. He shifted on his seat. "Look, I was up all night looking online. There's no sign that anything like the apocalypse happened here. _Ever_. And as far as I can tell, monsters, ghosts, demons—they're all pretend."

Dean scoffed. "So, nobody's hunting them?"

"No hunters." At Sam's reply, Aubrey's stomach turned over. A world without hunters? How had the entire globe _not_ be overrun by monsters? "Look, maybe that's why our spell didn't work, Dean. Maybe here, there's no supernatural, no magic."

"No demons, no hell," Dean further clarified, "No heaven, no—no _God_?"

"Something like," Sam said. "But even better: no angels."

Aubrey frowned, but said nothing more. She cradled her arm, letting it sit for another minute or two before starting to move it around. She bent it, stretched it behind her head, threw it in front of her in pushing motions before she was satisfied that it was fully healed. Sam and Dean watched her actions with uninterested eyes, and she stood up.

"Come on, guys," she told them. "We have work to do."

"Literally?" Dean groaned.

"Maybe." She took a quick glance out the window, regarding the bustling people with a sigh. "Look, maybe we can't get out of earth number two right now, but the least we can do is get out of the Canadian part of it. Anyone up for a joyride?"

The brothers shared a look, and Aubrey knew that she'd gotten them convinced. She pulled them onto their feet. "You guys go on ahead to Clif. I'll catch up."

"Woah, woah, woah." Dean halted himself as Aubrey was pushing him to the door of the trailer. "Where are you going?"

She looked at him as if the answer was obvious enough. "Explain to the director exactly why I decided to take you guys on a joyride in the middle of shooting day. Didn't you know that actors could get sued if they don't talk to their bosses about things like that? No? Well, now you know. So, off you go, boys!" She practically shoved them out of the trailer, right before stalking off towards a completely different direction on her own.

Why _would_ the boys go on a joyride with her?

* * *

Turtle-man was surprisingly considerate, but that was probably because it was her talking to him, not _Jared_ or _Jensen_. He told her to stay out with them for as long as she wanted, but that tomorrow they had to be at the set, ready to "act their asses off". Aubrey nodded an affirmation, no matter how amused she was by the phrase.

She was on her way to meet up with the boys at the parking lot when she heard yelling and loud grunts; it was the unmistakable sound accompanied by knuckle hitting skin. Aubrey ran to where she assumed the sounds were coming from, and the closer she got, the more she started thinking that it was Sam and Dean… along with a third person.

Her assumptions weren't wrong, for when she reached a rather odd-looking tunnel (a prop, for sure), inside were Sam and Dean. The younger of the brothers held a dark-haired man's arms behind him, while the eldest was beating the man on the face. Aubrey narrowed her eyes and was shocked to see that it was Virgil they were punishing so brutally. She took a single step forward—to stop them or to help them, she wasn't sure.

But before she was even up the short flight of stairs, several other men had run into the scene. Aubrey recognized a tall, dirty-haired man as someone who always sat beside turtle-man, the director of the show. "Not good, not good," he muttered to himself as he ran up to Sam and Dean. Aubrey watched from the background as the extra stunt men struggled to pull the brothers off of Virgil. Sam released quite a few objections, and a few curses here and there, but the moment Virgil started running away, Aubrey gave chase.

She slipped past the struggling horde of men, nearly tripping over a stray foot. Once she had regained her balance, though, Virgil was out of sight but that didn't stop her. She sped down the metal tunnel, her heart pumping against her chest. When she reached the end, Virgil was nowhere to be found.

Her head whirled left and right, desperate to find any trace of the angel, but there was none. Aubrey turned back around and took in the scene of Sam and Dean being led out of the other end of the tunnel, their heads bowed low. She quickly trailed after them.

"Where do you think you're going?" she demanded, slipping between them and the men who apparently still thought they were going to start punching again.

Sam sighed. "Apparently, the director wants to see us."

Aubrey rolled her eyes. "Yeah, 'cause you were found beating a guy to death! What were you thinking? You couldn't have done it in a more secluded place?" She said these in a hushed tone, afraid her words might disturb the unknowing crew members. "And he might have known a way to get back!"

"Or he has no juice here and now he's stuck," said Dean, rather pessimistically. "Like us."

"Did you _have_ to start punching him so hard though?"

"I was pissed!"

"Yeah, and now we're gonna have our asses handed to us by a guy who looks like a turtle," Aubrey retorted sharply. "Look, until we find Virgil again, no going loopy, alright? We're in over our heads as it is."

"Fine," the brothers grumbled at the same time. Aubrey huffed, silently praying that turtle-man's anger was as slow to rise as his ancestors' walking.


	37. Chapter 37

**and the tension thickens...**

* * *

"Did you have to tell him that we _quit_ though?" Aubrey laughed lightly. "I mean, you just made three people lose their jobs all at once."

"Can't they get it back by volunteering or something?" Dean said, frowning.

"I don't think so. Anyway—Virgil. How'd he get the key again?" She stepped through the doors of Jared Padalecki's mansion, the familiar scent of rain wafting off each of the hunters as they dried their feet on the welcoming mat, _without_ regard.

Sam grunted. "He must have slipped it out of my pocket while the stunt people were keeping me off him or something."

"How do you think we can get it back?"

"Maybe if we get inside the police dispatch system," he suggested, sounding quite driven despite the fact that he was the one who had lost the key in the first place.

Dean nodded in agreement. "Put out an A.P.B. on Virgil," he said. "Might work, if he stays obvious."

"It's not like we have a lot of time…"

Sam was interrupted by a shrill cry coming from their right. Aubrey whirled around, her hands already clenched into fists and ready to punch something. As it turned out, it was only fake-Ruby (Sam discovered that her actual name was Genevieve). Lines of make-up ran down her cheeks, and she was sobbing loudly: "Oh my God! Oh my God!"

"What?" Sam demanded, sounding rather callous towards the actress. Aubrey threw him a warning look, because some part of her knew that that was what Candice would do… and, she felt that he had been too unfeeling towards Genevieve.

"What happened?" Aubrey asked her. She barely understood Genevieve's words through her sobs, but they were straightforward enough:

"Misha, he's been stabbed to death!"

When they asked where Misha had been stabbed, Genevieve, albeit terribly befuddled, told them that his body was found in an alleyway only a few blocks away from the set. Aubrey immediately assumed that he'd been hijacked or something of the sort on the way to his car… or, while he was already in the car, but that was doubtful. Sam and Dean had raced to the car, going to drive to the scene, and Aubrey was just behind them when she felt Genevieve's hand wrap around her arm, effectively halting her.

"I'm sorry, Candice," the actress said, sympathy laced within her sobs. "I know you two were really great friends."

Not knowing what to say, Aubrey just gently shook her hand off her arm and said, "I want to see it for myself." Was that something Candice would say? She wasn't sure. She'd already turned around and started running for the Impala before Genevieve could formulate a proper response.

The crime scene wasn't at all hard to find, considering the police cars littering the alley and the yellow tape reading **"CAUTION DO NOT ENTER"** distributed very evenly everywhere. There weren't very many pedestrians looking in though, but that was probably because it was in the middle of the night. Aubrey, Sam, and Dean didn't even need ID to enter the scene. Whether the police in the city were careless or that was just standard Canadian rules, Aubrey didn't know. She stared down at Misha's body lying by her feet. It had been covered with a white sheet, but the blood from his slit neck had seeped through, carefully contrasting the dark, wet pavement with bright red.

Aubrey started wondering whether there were rules of a parallel universe that stated: when a person died, then their counter double in another universe would die as well. Or would they just feel a slight prick, which was the signal that their double had just lost their life? _Cas can't die that easily,_ Aubrey scolded herself. And were angels even bound by laws of time and space? She was sure that they weren't. She was just being paranoid, and protective, and angry, and hurting, and—

Dean tapping her arm shocked her out of her stupor.

"What is it?" Aubrey said, blinking rapidly to remove the raindrops she didn't know had slipped into her eyes.

"We know how we're gonna get back," Dean stated simply. Behind him was Sam, as apparently it was his turn to stare down at a dead Misha. Still blinking, though attention caught, Aubrey gestured for Dean to continue. "Some hobo guy overheard Virgil talking to himself after he stabbed Misha"—Aubrey had to do a double-take to make sure that she'd heard that right. _Virgil stabbed Misha?_—"and he said he heard a voice. Virgil's crossing over to the real world tomorrow, same place he got here from, same time. Raphael's gonna pull him out, _with_ the key. Did I mention that Virgil stabbed Misha?"

"No, but I gathered it," Aubrey replied sharply. "So… set-Bobby's house? That's where Virgil's gonna cross over?" Dean nodded. "Okay, so we rest up tonight, go to set with guns blazing tomorrow and knock Virgil out right before Raphael pulls him out so _instead_, _we're_ gonna be pulled out."

Sam frowned. "You make it sound so easy."

"It's nothing we haven't done before."

"Aub, if Virgil gets back with that key," Dean started, his voice laced with reasoning. "Cas is dead and our world is toast."

Aubrey knew he'd only mentioned Castiel dying because both he and his brother knew that she cared very much for the angel, which is why she kept her glare to a minimum. "Which is why we'll stop him before he crosses over," she replied shortly. "How bad can an angel with no wings be?"

* * *

Turns out, it could be very bad. Virgil hadn't been lying around waiting for high noon to come. He'd bought guns, the weapons Aubrey, Sam and Dean were supposed to have but couldn't have because the set didn't permit them. They were waiting for the angel, though. As soon as he walked into the set (shooting more people than was necessary), Sam caught his attention, and Dean and Aubrey team-tackled him into a prop wall.

Dean pinned the angel's arms to his sides as Aubrey landed punch after punch on his face. At least she was doing damage; a cut appeared on his upper lip, his nose started bleeding, and bruises the size of apples started forming on his cheeks. But she knew she couldn't last forever. Virgil brought his leg up and kneed the small of her back. Pain shot up her spine and she crumpled to the side, cursing violently. Virgil somehow managed to grab both of Dean's wrists and flipped him over. Dean landed on his back with a great crash. Aubrey tried to get her hands underneath her but Virgil landed a kick on her jaw. Stars appeared before her eyes, and she struggled to stay conscious. Virgil, apparently, was stronger than most angels.

From the side, there came the sound of a door being kicked open. What Aubrey knew to be Sam's feet entered her view, and she watched as he landed a punch on Virgil's jaw. Hands suddenly slipped beneath her armpits, but it was only Dean helping her onto her feet. She grunted in thanks before the two of them engaged Virgil once more.

It was supposed to be hard for one man to fight three fully-grown and experienced hunters at once, even for an angel. It took them a whole minute to finally get him on his back once more. This time, Dean pinned his arms, and Sam his legs as Aubrey struggled to fish the key out of his pocket. Dean continued punching Virgil senseless, and by the time the key had slipped into Aubrey's hand with a satisfying rattle, he had rendered the angel unconscious.

Breathing heavily, Aubrey held both her hands up to the boys for a high-five. They returned it, even letting small smiles stretch across their faces, but this was before the bright red symbol appeared on the prop window. It was the same symbol Dean had drawn there the previous day, and Aubrey couldn't fathom why their improvised spell hadn't worked.

"Raphael," Sam said below his breath. "RUN!"

Aubrey whirled around and made a break for it. The key rattled in her hand as she did so, but then a large hand seemed to sink into the small of her back. She gasped in pain as the hand pulled her backwards. At the back of her head, she knew the same was happening with her companions. Her feet left the ground and they crashed into the prop window. At least, it was supposed to be a prop—plastic. But the sudden pain that ripped across her back was just like what she'd felt in their original jump, from Bobby's _real_ study.

Her stomach seemed to turn in over itself, and Aubrey was seized with the sudden urge to throw up. Her back hit hard pavement, as well as several glass shards. They pricked her skin through the fabric of her clothes. She forced her eyelids open, groaning slightly. They were no longer on the set; that was what Aubrey had gathered from the unfamiliar surroundings, at least.

A dark-skinned woman in a business suit was walking up to them, and Aubrey could remember much from her last encounter with a certain archangel that she didn't need to wonder who the new face was.

"Raphael," Aubrey said, groaning slightly as she flipped onto her stomach, getting her hands beneath her. "Found a new meat suit, have you?"

"After you and Balthazar teamed up on me, I had to." Her tone was menacing. "See, you three have the strangest luck." She glared down at Aubrey, and Aubrey returned the favor as she wrestled herself onto her feet.

"You look great," Dean said from her right, before muttering from the corner of his mouth to his brother: "Dude looks like a lady."

Quicker than Aubrey could move, Raphael squeezed her fist. At the same time her palm closed, it seemed, Aubrey's organs felt like they were being cut open. She howled in agony, clutching her stomach as her knees buckled. She was determined to keep standing, however, and that was what she did. But she, once more, wasn't far off to losing consciousness.

"The key," she vaguely heard Raphael say. Aubrey knew that it was still tucked tight within her hand. In spite, she spat at the archangel's feet. The pain came again. Raphael seemed to be pouring boiling acid into her brain. White dots appeared in her vision, and Aubrey was forced to drop the key, finally falling to her knees as she squeezed her temples.

The sound of breaking glass reached her ears as Raphael approached them. She bent down to pick up the fallen key, her hand closing around it as if it were a star. Aubrey huffed pointedly, hard enough for the wisps of air to reach the archangel's face. Raphael looked down at her for a long moment before waving her hand. The agony disappeared as soon as it came, and Aubrey gulped in large amounts of air, coughing as the cold dried her throat.

There was the unmistakable sound of flapping wings, and Aubrey raised her head. Through the tears that had accumulated in her eyes, she saw the distinctive figure of Balthazar in his V-neck shirt and jacket. Small volumes of relief flooded through Aubrey, enough to give her the strength to get back on her feet. She stumbled, but Dean caught her, and continued to support her as they watched the all too familiar scene unravel before them.

"—open you a locker at the Albany bus station," Balthazar was saying, delicately raising a hand for added effect.

"Really?" said Raphael; her voice was smooth, but bordering on the edges of fury.

Balthazar nodded. "You see, I needed a modest decoy to make it more convincing—"

"Give me the weapons," she interjected sharply. The two angels were only a few feet apart, now, and Aubrey was subtly pulling Dean backwards with her; if ever an angel duel were to break out, they needed to be as far away as possible. They didn't need to become casualties in the war they'd been sucked into.

"Sorry, darling," Balthazar smoothly replied. "They're gone."

There was a pause. "_What_?"

"I said: too _bloody_ late." The angel's eyes held a soft blaze in them that Aubrey just assumed he was angry about something… or two. "You see, they were so well-hidden that I needed time to find them. So, I volunteered these three marmosets for a game of fetch with Virgil." He gestured to the hunters hanging back. "No offense, Phoenix."

"Asshole," Aubrey shot back, no hesitation whatsoever. Balthazar did a double-take with her, so something in her face must have frightened him even the slightest bit.

Balthazar cleared his throat. "Anyway, you three were such an adequate stick. Thank you, truly. Thank you."

'_You can take your thank you and shove it up your ass'_ Aubrey wanted to say, but kept her mouth shut because Raphael was still there, and she wasn't exactly keen on experiencing gut-wrenching pain thrice in one night.

"You've made your last mistake," stated said archangel, rather menacingly.

"Oh, I've got a few more up my sleeve," Balthazar retorted, "_honey_."

Raphael's figure turned rigid. From where Aubrey stood, she could see the emotions ripple across her face: embarrassment, anger, malice. The archangel approached Balthazar in long strides, and Aubrey was surprised to find Balthazar not moving. She made a move against Dean, to somehow help the angel. Why—she wasn't sure. Dean held her back though, grunting because apparently, even while injured, she was still very strong.

She stilled when another pair of wings came fluttering down.

"Step away from him, Raphael," Castiel said. A light shudder ran through Aubrey's cold state as his voice seemed to seep into her. She felt reassured to see him, after everything they'd gone through in the past days; at the same time, she felt an intense anger. Heat rose up her neck as she stared at the angel with a newfound irritation, though she knew she couldn't exactly hit him at that moment. She resolved to wait it out.

"I have the weapons now," he continued. His voice turned hostile. "Their power is with me." Lightning flashed (though it hadn't been raining), and Castiel's figure was illuminated by the heavenly light. On the wall behind him wasn't his own shadow, but the shadow of his wings. They stretched out from his back, spanning as long as a fully-grown human. Were they that large the last time he'd shown them? Aubrey couldn't remember.

The sight was oddly intimidating, but Aubrey still felt new wells of rage pouring into her, speeding up her healing ability so that she didn't need to lean against Dean anymore. He didn't seem to notice though, his eyes trained on Raphael.

"Castiel." She said his name with what sounded like reverence… or perhaps it was fear. The latter seemed a better option to Aubrey.

"If you don't want to die tonight," Castiel said, closing in on the archangel, "Back off." His eyes were steely. Raphael stared at him for a moment longer before the sound of wings once more filled the square. Aubrey blinked, and she was gone.

Her gaze switched to Balthazar, who had spared a quick glance at her, smirking slightly. She narrowed her eyes. "Well, Cas," he said, stepping towards his brother-in-arms. "Now that you have your sword, try not to die by it."

Aubrey felt a sudden rush of nostalgia. Months ago, but what seemed like a millennia, Castiel had teamed up with her, Sam and Dean to find Balthazar, for he needed the weapons in order to defeat Raphael. Now he had it, and Balthazar was, more or less, in good terms with the Winchesters. Not so much with Aubrey herself, but seconds ago she'd been willing to step into the fray to keep Raphael off of him, so she supposed they were… _acquainted_ as well.

Castiel, unfortunately, had taken her trust and stuck a shard of glass into it.

She glared at the angel. Balthazar was long gone, disappearing with a heavy flurry of flapping but it wasn't like she would have noticed. Castiel seemed to be uncomfortable beneath her heavy gaze, and that was exactly what she wanted. She wanted him to feel guilty. A memory sprung up from her mind from several months ago: he had told her Phoenixes possessed the gifts of the Holy Spirit. Now she was absolutely positive that what he said was bullcrap; wisdom, counsel, understanding, piety? Aubrey might have had all of those when she wasn't blinded by anger.

After moments of just watching Aubrey from afar, Castiel finally seemed to pluck up the courage to approach them; he did it hastily, with brisk steps and his head bowed.

"Cas, what the hell?" Sam started earnestly. The angel didn't seem to hear him. Before Aubrey could protest, he had placed his hand on her and Sam's shoulders. For the second time that night, her stomach lurched. Her hand flew to her mouth and she gagged, closing her eyes tight. When she was fairly positive that the bile had retreated back into her throat, she opened her eyes, and was astonished to find herself and Sam standing in the middle of Bobby's study—the real one, not the one on set. Castiel was nowhere to be seen, but after a second or two, he reappeared with Dean in tow.

He hadn't even let go of Dean's shoulder yet before Aubrey was on him. She grabbed the scruffs of his coat and pushed him up against a wall. Several items slid onto the floor, but she didn't mind those. Eyes blazing, she demanded from him: "You were in on this? Using us as a _diversion_?" She pulled him back before shoving him against the wall again. Sam and Dean rushed up to her and started pulling her off him; she didn't struggle, not wanting to hurt them. And something inside her was still sane. They needed answers.

Castiel's face remained stoic. "It was Balthazar's plan…" he trailed off, shrugging lightly. "Though I would have done the same thing."

Aubrey snarled. "You piece of—"

"That's not comforting, Cas!" Dean yelled, doing his best to keep Aubrey at bay, though she was feigning weakness.

The angel in the room shook his head. "When will I be able to make you understand?" he said. "If I lose against Raphael, we all lose. Everything." Even then, he wouldn't raise his voice. Aubrey hated his sense of self-control. He had lost it once, when it was just the two of them against the world. Now he was back under his leash. Aubrey roughly pushed Dean's hands off her, not taking her cold eyes off the angel who wouldn't look at her.

"Yeah, Cas, we know the stakes," Dean shot back hotly. "That's about all you've told us!"

Castiel regarded Dean with his same, blank expression; though behind his eyes, Aubrey saw differently. It was too bad she was still very much upset with him. Otherwise, she might have been able to see what was clawing at him from the inside.

"I'm sorry about all this," he said, barely a whisper. "I'll explain when I can."

Then a strong gust of wind entered the room, masking the sound of wings that was surely there. Aubrey didn't blink, but he disappeared anyway. She let out a frustrated shout:

"Dean Winchester, I swear _to God_, who I don't even like that much! The next time that dick shows up, I am gonna hit him so hard his entire legion will feel it!"

Dean didn't smile. "Count me in."

* * *

"What do you mean we were only gone a few hours?" Aubrey all but yelled. "We were in that hellhole for—what?—almost three days!"

Bobby shook his head. "I'm tellin' you, Aub. We went out to buy stock at eight, got back a little past 9. There was a hole in my wall but you weren't here. So we searched the house. I hear some yelling, we rendezvous back here and the three of you are just standin' there gawking at each other."

Aubrey switched her gaze to Greg, who was sitting in one of the chairs between Sam and Dean. "Is he serious?" she asked him. He had already put Aiden to sleep in their room. Lorraine had retreated into her room as soon as they got back from the store, but Aubrey was just happy she didn't run to the cops.

Greg nodded slowly. "He's serious. So uh…" he trailed off, scratching his head. "Is disappearing out of the blue a normal occurrence for you guys?"

Pursing her lips, she looked at each of the hunters in the room. They came to the same conclusion: "Yes." Greg bobbed his head once, but said nothing more.

"Why don't you get some sleep, Greg?" Aubrey suggested softly. "It's late. I'm sure you're tired."

"Not nearly as tired as you guys are, I'm sure," he retorted, though not unkindly. "And it depends; are you guys gonna talk about anything else if I go?"

"Well, yeah. There's a lot of stuff we need to talk about, actually—"

"Then I'm staying." Greg's face turned stern. "If Aiden's gonna be staying here, with you guys as his guardians, I want to know about everything that's happening. I don't want to risk not knowing."

Aubrey frowned. There was no stopping it now. He was going to be pulled deeper into everything than she'd previously imagined. So was Aiden. So was Lorraine (though Aubrey didn't care much for her). Aubrey shared a fleeting glance with Dean and Sam, and they both showed hesitation on their faces. She conveyed her anxiety through her eyes, and they returned it. Looking at Bobby, now, he seemed to have more willingness than any of them, so she gained sureness from him.

"Alright," she told Greg, grabbing a chair for herself. "Might as well, I guess… Bobby, what'd you got?"

The older man heaved a heavy sigh, opening one of his drawers and pulling out a stack of newspaper articles. "I've been getting blasts from hunters all week," he said as he took out a map from his back pocket.

"And you just failed to bring this up before?" Dean asked, raising an eyebrow.

Bobby shrugged. "It only started getting so bad last night. Nest of vamps,"—he encircled a town somewhere in Salt Lake City—"werewolf dance party,"—Cheyenne—"shifters, six of 'em; two hunters died taking 'em out." He drew a larger red circle on Des Moines. "Ghouls, ghouls… ghoul-wraith smorgasbord"—three circles on Joliet, South Bend, and Toledo, in that order.

Dean suddenly took the red marker from Bobby and connected the circles. "Is it just me," he said, "Or is that a straight kick-line down I-80?"

"Exactly," Bobby drawled, eliciting a sharp whistle from Aubrey.

"I'll be damned."

"Looks to me like it's a Sherman March Monster Mash," Dean mused out loud; a small smirk traced up Aubrey's lip, but it disappeared when she noticed Greg inching his chair closer to the four hunters hunched around the desk. Frowning slightly, she moved her chair as to allow more space for the newcomer, no matter how much she didn't want to. He'd made his choice, she had to respect it.

"… But where are they marching to?" Sam was saying. Bobby drew a messy, but large, circle around Youngstown, where the trail seemed to stop.

Aubrey stared at it in deep curiosity. "What happened there?"

"Guy bashes in his family's heads," Bobby simply replied. Sam and Dean shifted on their feet, while Aubrey glanced over her shoulder at Greg, whose face seemed to be paler than normal.

She nodded at Bobby. "We going there tomorrow?"

"First thing," he told her. "But here's the thing…" He seemed to hesitate, sharing looks with the brothers who sat across from him. Aubrey narrowed her eyes in suspicion just as he said, "You ain't coming."

She laughed. "The Mother of All might just be waiting there for us and I'm not gonna come. Yeah, right." The boys didn't start cracking up, though, and she turned sober soon enough. Her eyes turned cold. "Wait… you can't be serious!"

"No one's gonna stay with Aiden if you come with," Sam told her in his gentle, reasoning voice.

"Then Bobby can stay!" Aubrey shot back.

"I've been waiting to get back in the action for _months_, Aubrey," said Bobby. "And we're not even sure yet if the Mother is actually there. It could just be one of her children cooking up trouble."

"This is bullshit," she muttered to herself, dropping back into her chair as she had unconsciously stood up in her fit of disbelief. They were going to leave her behind? After finding a hunt that could possibly lead them to the Mother of All? She couldn't believe it. "This is _bullshit_—"

"Look," Dean said, and she couldn't believe he was siding with Bobby too. "We'll be gone five days, tops. We'll call you every day, keep you posted on what's happening."

She scoffed, grumbling, "You think that'll keep me sane for five days?"

"No, Aiden will keep you sane for five days," Bobby said, and she couldn't help the slight glare that eased into her gaze. He softened up. "Look, Aub, if anything about the Mother comes up, we'll call, and I give you my permission to drop everything and run. But _only_ when we call. Got it?"

Aubrey pursed her lips. "No promises."

Bobby sighed. "Not like you'll just leave 'em here though. You're more protective over 'em than the rest of us." At this, Aubrey shot the old hunter a warning look. But she could already feel Greg's eyes boring into the back of her head, because he had heard.

* * *

**DUN DUN DUNNNNNNNNNNNN review please**


	38. Chapter 38

**Two chapters again. ^^**

**I DO NOT OWN SUPERNATURAL OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS; I ONLY OWN AUBREY AND A COUPLE OTHER OC'S. Don't sue me.**

* * *

Greg had finally let Aiden loosen up. It was high noon, around 2 o'clock, and they were in the junkyard. After Aubrey's dozen repeats of telling the man that it was safe, Greg allowed Aiden to play Race Car inside one of the beat-up trucks. Aubrey wasn't lying, too; the cars might have been rusty and old, but they weren't old enough to crumble to dust the moment a young boy sat in the driver's seat.

She watched from the bench by the repair shop as Aiden made quiet engine noises with his mouth. Greg stood waiting by the door of the car in case anything happened. Lorraine—whether fortunately or unfortunately, Aubrey didn't know—had decided to remain in her room for the remainder of the day. Despite the fact that they had had canned pork and beans for breakfast, at least she had eaten with them. Aubrey was fairly sure that she wasn't going to make a break for the police station anymore, because one, she had no means of getting there, and two, _if_ she tried to run there, there was no way for her to be able to do so without Aubrey hearing her exit her room. She was thankful that Bobby's floorboards were creaky at the top floor.

Aubrey took a swig of her ice-cold beer, eyeing the bottle that Greg had denied not ten minutes ago. She supposed he had good reason to, considering his boy was running around. She didn't need to be valedictorian to know that drinking in front of kids was bad, but that was what she was doing at that moment, so she must have been a very bad role model.

Nevertheless, after a minute or two of pondering, she pushed her bottle away from her as well. She would stow it away in the fridge and continue drinking it when Sam and Dean got back. But then she remembered what kind of hunt they were on, and her impatience bubbled up again.

They'd been tracking down the Mother of All a little over a month now, trying to pin down exactly _what_ she was, and how they were going to kill her. She wasn't so mad at the boys because they'd left her (though that was definitely a large factor), but because they had made a reckless decision. So what if it wasn't the Mother of All, if it was just one of her children? That didn't make it any less dangerous. And Aubrey was supposed to be the one hunting with Sam and Dean, not Bobby. She loved the old man like a second father, for she would never forget her own, but he was old. He showed that whenever he bent down to pick up a stray nail and he would hurt his back, or when his hands shook whenever he held up something heavy, or when he would have to run upstairs to fetch something and come back down breathing heavily.

It wasn't exactly reassuring to know that the only family she had left had gone on a very dangerous hunt, with one of them emotionally unstable, one of them _mentally_ unstable, and the other physically unstable.

Aubrey wasn't sure if she was mentally unstable too. After her first blackout caused by hearing Remiel's name, there had been no repeats. At least, not yet. She found that if she didn't think about it too much, she'd forget about it… for a while. The feeling of fire on her skin, the pain, the golden grass still being there when she opened her eyes, the tree…

She was thinking about it again. Shaking her head, her hand reached out and grasped around the cool surface of the beer bottle she'd recently pushed away. With a heavy sigh, she took in three large gulps before pushing it away again. Prickling sensations started running up and down her arms, resulting in goose bumps and standing hair follicles, but she didn't mind.

Her phone started ringing. Loudly. Greg looked up from where he was watching Aiden but Aubrey waved a hand at him in a gesture of nonchalance. She picked up the phone and flipped it open, still feeling Greg's eyes on her. That faded to the background, however, when she saw who was calling. She pressed the answer button and placed the phone against her ear.

"Find out what it is yet?" she immediately demanded, her eyes flickering to where Greg was. He'd looked away, now, but was sending fleeting glances at her.

**"It's Mother Dearest,"** came Dean's sarcastic reply, but Aubrey froze. **"Yeah, we had a talk with that guy who butchered his wife and son. He worked at Starlight Cannery, a gas station just off I-80."** _I'm betting that's where it all went to shit._**"Says he blacked out and woke up back in his truck in the morning. Our camera feeds say differently, though."**

Aubrey's stomach churned. "Mother?"

**"Yep. Butcher guy says he was giving a girl a ride, but then she took off. So, we're looking at the feeds now and they just went crazy—static all over the girl's face. Freakish nightmare."**

Her finger started tapping wildly on the wooden surface beneath her hand. "I seem to recall Bobby giving me permission to drop everything and run when something like this came up."

**"You are **_**not**_** leaving those three alone there, Aubrey,"** said Dean in his firm voice. **"And you're not bringing them here either. Just wait for us. The plan hasn't changed."**

"You didn't even have a plan when you left!"

**"We made one up in the car."** There was a pause, behind which Aubrey had to concentrate to hear the distant voice of Sam. **"Hey, Bobby's on the phone with Sam right now,"** Dean said after a moment.** "He says that Rufus turned up at the Cannery station, wants us to rendezvous there with them. They found something, Aub…"**

"Call me as soon as you can," she said, ignoring his last statement. "Stay safe… Please." A pleading tone seemed to have edged into her voice. Hoping Dean hadn't noticed she cleared her throat and quickly changed the subject. "Anyway, Aiden's fine. Greg's playing with him right now. Lorraine's been cooperating so far so that's something, right?"

**"Right,"** came Dean's hasty response. **"Look, Aub, we really need to get going. We'll call you."**

_"Sure,"_ she was about to say, but the line had already went dead. Pursing her lips, she flipped the phone closed and placed her head in her hands. She wondered whether this was how Bobby felt every time they cut a call with him. Months ago, he had finally given the brothers a piece of his mind. _"You ain't the center of the universe,"_ the old man had said, and only now was Aubrey starting to understand.

Phoenixes may have been very powerful, and very rare creatures—she was second to the last one of her race—but she wasn't the center of the universe as much as Dean could dance ballet. She needed to let that sink in—the fact that the world wasn't going to stop spinning if she died, but it would seriously put a dent on God's plans for her species though. He wanted her to stay alive and 'reproduce', so Phoenixes could roam the world once more. That wasn't exactly possible considering a.) Aiden was a _child_, and b.) She had no spouse.

And dying _permanently_ wasn't exactly one of the things Aubrey had made a bucket list for. They didn't even know anything that could make her stay dead yet, only Hellfire, which was apparently one of the few things that could burn her. A thought occurred to her. She hadn't tested that theory yet—that burning was a rare occurrence for her. She surprised herself that she actually _wanted_ to. Perhaps she was just bored out of her mind.

A loud scream echoed from the distance, sending shivers down Aubrey's spine. She was on her feet in a second, nearly turning the table over in her rush to get to Aiden and Greg. Her eyesight had turned dull, and she didn't know why. Only when she reached them did her vision straighten out, and she saw that Aiden was laughing. Greg had pulled him out of the car and laid him across the rusted trunk, where he tickled the boy's sides. Aiden's peals of laughter resonated all across the junk yard, easing Aubrey back into her chill attitude.

Her adrenaline died down. She straightened her knees and relaxed her hands, already starting the walk back to the bench.

"What's up?" Greg asked, slightly breathless because of his son struggling against his ministrations.

Aubrey turned back around and schooled a small smile on her face. "You nearly gave me a heart attack," she told him, laughing lightly to hide her nerves.

Greg frowned. "Everything alright?"

"Yeah, you just scared me…" Aubrey waved him off. "Go ahead and play with Aiden. I'm probably just tired."

Aiden kept giggling in his father's arms, prompting him further to start the tickling but Greg remained motionless. "When was the last time you slept?" he asked Aubrey, who tilted her chin upwards in an appearance of deep thought.

"About a day ago, give or take," she said. Greg pursed his lips at her and she laughed. "What? I couldn't sleep last night." _We saw some pretty radical stuff yesterday,_ she wanted to say, but she didn't for safe-conversation's sake. "Anyway…" She waved him off again, and this time, didn't wait for him to say more. When she plopped back down on the bench, Greg had already starting chasing Aiden around the junkyard.

Aubrey watched their movements with amused eyes, knowing Greg was purposefully slowing his pace so Aiden could get away. They continued their chase for minutes on end; often times, Aiden would hide inside a car to catch his breath, while Greg loomed outside because, apparently, "monsters can't open doors". Once Aiden was rested, he would jump out of the opposite door and the chase would start over again.

From afar, Aubrey could see the trickles of sweat starting to form on their brows, slipping into the hollow parts of their clothing if their shirts hadn't soaked them up yet.

Suffice it to say, Aiden was a little ball of energy. The sun had dipped low—almost an hour had passed—when he finally let Greg catch him; though the older one of the pair was practically dragging himself by that point. Greg muttered something into Aiden's ear, still breathing heavily. Aubrey didn't hear anything of what he'd said but the boy laughed, and that was hint enough.

The boy started running towards her, swinging his arms about. "Jenna," he started happily. "Can I have some water—?" Then a short, shrill yell tore through his throat as he tripped over a small rock, which was coincidentally jutting out of the ground like a single baby tooth.

_He called me 'Jenna' again, _thought Aubrey right before she saw the unmistakable red of a wound. She bolted to her feet just as the flashback started.

_A boy is wrapped in my arms. I look down and see many cuts on his young face, his clothes dirty and torn, and his leg seems be bent in an unnatural angle between my thighs; the sight makes me want to vomit. But we're both doing things that we weren't doing before. He sobs against my chest, and I'm yelling my throat raw because it seems the flames are interested in turning me to ash first. But wasn't that the exact reason why I had enveloped the boy against me in the first place?_

_ He stops sobbing abruptly, and I look down to find him staring at my neck. My vision can't reach that far, and I use my hand to grope along my jaw. When I pull it away, my fingers come out bloody._

_ The blaze rises up and seems to seep into my nose, travelling down my throat and burning me there. I scream, and I hear the boy's crying mingle with mine before the fire reaches its peak and I can see nothing more but tongues of flame._

* * *

Not a minute had passed, but it had felt like days to Aubrey. She came to her senses and she was on her knees. Her head throbbed painfully, but through the retreating haze of the memory, she could make out Aiden sitting on the ground with his one leg propped up on his father's knee. Greg was fussing over the scrapes on both of the boy's knees. Aubrey pushed herself back onto her feet, ignoring the mental protests travelling down her spine.

"What the hell happened to you?" Greg demanded as she approached them.

She shook her head. "Nothing. Let's get you inside and clean this up, alright, buddy?" Aiden nodded his head vigorously, looking shell-shocked. He stared down at the paper-thin scratches on his knees, courtesy of the tiny rocks littered on the ground. Aubrey made a move to pick him up off the ground but Greg gently pushed her hand away and did it himself. In the brief moment where their skin brushed against the other, she noticed his finger flinch, as if burned. Her eyes snapped up to his face and she found a pained look behind the otherwise worried-father look.

Frowning, she clenched her hands into fists and forced her body temperature to go back to normal. Together, and without further touching either of the two, Aubrey led them back into the house.

Once inside, she directed Greg into the living room and told him to lay Aiden down on the sofa. She didn't watch as he did, turning around to rush into the kitchen, where she filled a small bowl with tap water. She quickly ran upstairs and into her room, snatching two clean towels from one of her drawers and a bottle of alcohol before running back to the living room again.

"It's not that bad," she crooned to Aiden, who had started crying softly as he stared down at the scrape on his knee. It seriously could have been worse. Luckily, he hadn't scratched it too bad. His hands had probably shot forward to stop his fall, for there were mild scrapes below his palms too. The gravel outside had made thin cuts on his skin, and though they weren't very deep, they had to get the tiny rocks out before his Phoenix abilities started healing the wound. She knew from experience that letting skin grow over a piece of debris, no matter how tiny, was a bad idea.

Two nights before, when they had just gotten back from Bizarro Earth (as Dean liked to call it), Aubrey had stood with her back to the mirror to find several tiny glass pieces embedded by her shoulder blades. Her skin had healed over it, and they had stood out like tiny mounds of very sharp dirt over a patch of otherwise flat ground. She ended up having to cut them out afterward because every movement was irritating, and letting the glass pieces stay would have been bad for her bloodstream, she was sure.

Shaking the pointless memory from her head, Aubrey knelt in front of Aiden and dipped the towel into the bowl of tap water. "Stay still, okay?" she told the boy, gripping his hand tightly. He sniffled, but nodded his head. Aubrey started rubbing the towel over the scrape as gently as she could. She was only doing so to get the dirt out. Without taking her eyes off the wound, she handed Greg the extra towel and told him to dip it in the water. He did, and she guided his hand to the scrape she'd previously been treating.

"Keep cleaning that," she told him, letting her mind go on autopilot. She moved to the side and got to work on Aiden's other knee. There wasn't as much debris there as she'd previously thought. She moved to clean the boy's hands in less than a minute; (again, just to get the debris out.)

Aiden started wincing, then, and Aubrey pulled away. Her free hand shot out to stop Greg's ministrations on the boy's other knee. He glanced at her questioningly, and she frowned. He'd never seen Phoenix Powers at work before, but it was now or never. Pursing her lips, she nodded to Aiden's knee, which was already stitching itself back together. From the corner of her eye, she noticed Greg turn rigid, and her stomach further twisted in on itself.

Meanwhile, Aiden was beaming, seeming to have forgotten the sharp pinching sensation through his excitement. "Cool!" he exclaimed loudly. "How'd you do that?"

Aubrey schooled on a small smile. "My brothers know a thing or two about patching up scrapes. Those'll be good as new by tomorrow morning," she said, nodding at the scars on his hands and knees. She supposed his Powers hadn't fully developed yet, and his healing abilities took more time. To her surprise, however, a yawn escaped her lips, and not long after Greg was helping Aiden off the sofa.

He sighed, feigning tiredness. "How about we all take a nap?" Aubrey gave him a sideways glance, but even in that short span of time looking at his face, she saw that he wanted to keep Aiden's identity a secret for as long as he could—just as she herself wanted to.

* * *

That night, Aubrey cooked up a decent batch of fried chicken and buttered corn and carrots. It wasn't a very difficult recipe, so she was even more surprised when Lorraine came down to help her. When she asked why, the woman said, "I don't want my food to be burnt." Aubrey realized how she'd said _my_ instead of _our_, and a couple of retorts flew into her head, but she kept them to herself.

They sat around the table in an awkward silence, much like they had that morning. Crickets were chirping in Aubrey's head as she watched Aiden wrestle to separate the meat from the chicken bone. Greg helped before she could, though, and she was left to take a bite out of her own dish. She wasn't feeling particularly hungry, which was odd; everyone else was because she'd forgotten to call for a pizza delivery for snack time. They hadn't had lunch either.

Memories of her flashback sat fresh in her mind, waiting for the perfect time to spill out of their jar once more to torture Aubrey with questions that were yet to be answered: Where was Purgatory? Where was _her_ Purgatory? Could Remiel help them against the Mother of All? _Would_ he help them?

"Mom?" Aiden suddenly said, snapping Aubrey out of her thoughts. "What happened to you at… at the house?" Aubrey really wished he hadn't asked that. Her eyes flicked to Lorraine, who sat across from her and beside Greg. The woman's hands tightened around her utensils, and Aubrey tensed, waiting for her to blow.

"I don't know, Aiden," said Lorraine, her voice uncharacteristically shaky. "Why don't you ask Jenna? She was awake for more of it—"

"Aubrey," Aubrey interrupted sharply. All eyes turned to her, and she softened her expression. "It's Aubrey, not Jenna—alright?" She looked to Aiden, knowing that he was really the only one who didn't fully understand what was happening yet. Lorraine had been filled in, she just refused to believe. Aiden nodded his head, and Aubrey racked her brain for any plausible answer that he would believe.

"Your mom and I," she ended up saying, "Had a… disagreement."

Aiden frowned. "I heard what she was saying. She said she would kill the human because you wouldn't let her in. Did she mean she was going to kill me—?"

"It was a _very_ huge overreaction, sweetie," Aubrey cut in, meeting Lorraine's eyes. For the first time, they came to an agreement. "You see, women have these monthly… happenings"—her mind was racing for the perfect bribe—"where we're sort of given the right to overreact to certain things."

His eyes widened slightly. "I think my teacher mentioned something like that at school before."

From the corner of her eye, Aubrey saw the ghost of a smile tracing over Greg's lips. "As it so happened," she continued, "Your mom was in this kind of stage when we had a fight so… I guess I kind of deserved it." _No, I didn't._ "You get it?"

Aiden bobbed his head slowly, then: "But wait! Why were you looking for salt and holy water? And why did you ask my dad to lock us in my drawing room? And why did you give me a knife?"

Aubrey flinched at the last question, and it was noticeable, if she had to guess. The kid had a good memory; she had to admit. "I was in that monthly stage too, bud," she lied easily. "I overreacted."

The boy crossed his arms and pouted grumpily. "You scared me!"

"I know, I'm sorry." Aubrey stroked his knuckles lightly, watching from the corner of her eye for Lorraine's reaction. She was blushing profusely (most likely because of the mortifying lies Aubrey had made up), but otherwise she didn't object. Aubrey had to pull away soon enough, though.

And then Aiden asked: "But why did we have to leave the house?"

No reasonable lie came to mind, and Aubrey started panicking; why did they have to leave the house? Because there was a gas leak? Because an epidemic was spreading in the town and they had to evacuate? Because Greg wanted to get a break, or he had found a good story in a home close to Bobby's? If that was the case, why didn't he leave the house more often?

Aubrey was saved by the sudden buzzing in her pocket, which was not long afterward followed by the ring tone of her cellphone.

Her heart leaped into her throat and she quickly slipped out of the dining room, the phone already against her ear. "What's happening?" she said immediately, only then thinking of how rude she must have been, exiting the table without excusing herself first—not that she much cared.

**"Something came up, Aub,"** came Bobby's distinct accent, making the girl freeze. Why was Bobby using Dean's phone when Dean himself could call her? **"We're, uh, kind of stuck here for the night. We had to put the place in lockdown. The thing that mind-jammed that poor guy into killing his family… it's here. It got into Dean, got him to kill Gwen."**

"Gwen _Campbell_?" Aubrey said in disbelief, getting her a grunt of affirmative from Bobby. "So Samuel must be there too. Has Dean killed him yet?"

**"No, but God knows we all want to,"** Bobby replied. **"It's gotten out of Dean now, though. It's him, me, Sam, Rufus and Samuel against this worm thing. If I had to guess, Aub, this thing is straight out of Mommy Dearest, one of her newest. We're doing all we can, but…"** There was a pregnant pause, one Aubrey was desperate to fill but knew she shouldn't. **"I'm taking your dropping-everything-and-running privileges away. You stay there with that family and keep 'em safe until we get back."**

"And if you don't?"

**"Then shag ass out of there and take 'em to Cambodia. Make sure to drag Cas down to put those Enochian sigils in 'em too. They're gonna need it."**

"You're coming back, Bobby," Aubrey urged. "You, and Rufus, and the boys."

**"What about Samuel?"**

"I couldn't give a rat's ass about him, but Gwen didn't deserve what she got. I would rather Dean have shot Samuel instead of her."

**"You been acquaintanced?"**

Her lip twitched up in a smile. "You could say that."

Voices suddenly echoed in the background; Aubrey recognized one of them to the Rufus Turner's. She'd only ever talked with him once on the phone, never met with him before, though, but she'd gathered that he'd been friends with Bobby for a long time. Then Sam's voice, then Dean's. Aubrey couldn't understand much but something was happening; she was sure of it.

**"Aub, I gotta go,"** Bobby hastily said. He'd already hung up before Aubrey could formulate a response.

She flipped her phone shut and sighed heavily, looking up at the cloudless sky. She wanted them to get back more than anything; she didn't want to 'shag ass' with the Bishops and rehabilitate them to Cambodia. Staring at the stars, she could almost imagine the angel Castiel fighting with his brothers upstairs. A hot rod of guilt suddenly pressed into her; she wanted to be mad at him, but it was getting more impossible the longer he was gone. She missed him.

But she was upset with him as well.

Her feelings were complicated at that moment and she decided to go back inside and rejoin the Bishops for dinner. When Greg asked what the call was about, she answered, "They ran into some problems at the job. Nothing much to worry about though," even though there was a _lot_ to worry about. From the corner of her eye, she spotted Greg throwing her doubtful looks, but she held her peace until dinner finished, and even until afterwards.


	39. Chapter 39

As expected, Aubrey didn't sleep that night.

She lied on her bed with her arms propped behind her head staring at the ceiling. Her mind wouldn't let her be, wandering to the farthest places and troubling her with anxieties that seldom were possible. She mostly worried about Dean and Bobby and Sam and Rufus, the four of them locked inside a building (Aubrey didn't even know if said building was big or small) where, coincidentally, a child of the Mother of All was roaming around as well. Four against one ugly, douchebag monster were very good odds, she knew, but it was difficult not to be apprehensive—not when Bobby had sounded so doubtful over the phone.

And he'd said that the monster had "got into Dean". Aubrey had to assume that it had possessed him in some way, like what had happened to the truck driver by the stop. She was anxious to hear more news, hopefully to hear if they had killed the monster already or not, but she couldn't help the fact that her heart clenched when she heard about Gwen's death.

She and Gwen hadn't had the best relations as of late, considering the last time they'd seen each other was when they had a final showdown with a certain vampire Alpha—the same night Aubrey had been kidnapped by Crowley, back to his base, where he ordered for her daily torture. _Good times,_ Aubrey mused, but a frown remained on her lips as she pondered on how Dean had killed Gwen. Did he make it quick, perhaps a gunshot to the head that would have damaged her brain cells enough to make her not feel anything? Or had the monster inside his head forced him to kill her slowly, cut into her stomach and twisted the knife or, perhaps, slit her throat; either way, she'd have had to feel the blood slowly pouring out of her as her brain sluggishly stopped working.

Gwen had been a decent person, not a creep like her other-other relative, Christian. Aubrey knew her to be a good hunter, and someone she probably would have loved to call friend, if their circumstances were different. But Samuel had rubbed off on her. She'd trusted his opinions more than Aubrey's and more than Dean's, and that had resulted in the Alpha vamp's escape and ultimately, Aubrey's kidnapping.

She couldn't hate Gwen though. The fresh news of her death making her not want to anymore, especially when it joined the fact that they had never been able to talk to each other after the fight with the Alpha. Aubrey started wondering what they would have said to each other, and a small smile inched up her lips as a conversation sprung to life in her overcrowded head:

_"Hey, Gwen! How are things? Is Christian still being a perv and Samuel still being a bald douche?"_

_ "You bet! How about you? Does Dean still have that annoying brother of his?"_

_ "What do you expect?—Wait, _annoying_? I'm gonna kick your ass!"_

The imagined exchange quickly turned into an unnecessary banter, but Aubrey couldn't help it. She grew restless by the second, thoughts of Gwen Campbell quickly morphing into thoughts of the angel Castiel; although _memories_ would have been a better term for it.

She started remembering the first time the two of them met: inside a motel room, with his back to her and a pocket knife in her hand. She had thought he was a burglar, up until he mentioned being acquainted with Sam and Dean. Then the brothers went ahead and got placed into Gabriel's (AKA the Trickster's) little TV spot. Aubrey and Castiel had gone on a hunt to find them, obviously, but ended up in the same place anyway.

Throughout their misadventure, Aubrey had revealed more about herself than she would have wanted to originally; that she and the Winchesters had been friends for a long time, that she was a hunter as well, that she deeply cared for the boys and, most importantly, that she was scared of heights. She hadn't revealed her family history, though, because Sam and Dean barely knew anything about that. All they know was that her mother died via food poisoning, and her father had been killed by a Crocotta. They didn't know that her mother was, in fact, killed in a scheme by Gabriel. The archangel publicized those actualities later on, though, so Aubrey never really had to tell the story herself.

But then the car crash happened, and it was a whole new spiral downwards for her. Aubrey had drunk the contents of the vial Gabriel had given her, her Power. Her body healed itself and she was walking again in no time, but apparently Castiel disapproved of her taking her Power back. He had gotten upset with her, and after several arguments and changes of heart, they had reconciled.

Now, however, the angel was fighting in a civil war, and he had no time for "games" with Aubrey and the Winchesters; even though whenever they called, it was never a "game", they seriously needed his help. He seldom came when they prayed for him, but he always did whenever they were standing face to face with Death… figuratively speaking.

Thinking this, Aubrey couldn't help but to remember that one night out she'd had with the boys and Castiel, right after escaping Gabriel. She remembered ignoring how utterly miserable and tired she felt, just wanting to have a cold drink and talk with the only lasting pair of friends she'd ever known. She hadn't fathomed that, the same night she'd gotten Castiel to play Never Have I Ever, brought him to a brothel, and go stargazing with him, would be the night they would share their first kiss.

At that moment, Aubrey had decided that she wasn't going to label her relationship with the angel. They weren't friends; Castiel had proven that just by the way he'd looked at her, even until now. They weren't lovers, or a couple; they'd only shared one kiss, and Aubrey was positive that she'd done it just as a thank you to him. He had saved her life, once or twice.

Everything was going to shit now, and she didn't know what to do.

Aiden and Greg were on the verge of danger, with only Bobby's vintage-papered walls keeping them out of view from the rest of Hell's population, and Aubrey was lying on her back in the middle of the night, lost in her thoughts, when she should have been resting. But she couldn't help herself, and soon enough she started thinking about how they were going to continue keeping the Bishops safe.

Their plan, the one Greg had agreed to, unnerved Aubrey. They were supposed to teach them—a young boy, a somewhat bipolar woman, and a journalist father—how to protect themselves against monsters, ghosts, ghouls and demons. The idea seemed slightly impossible, considering the weight on the hunters' shoulders currently: keeping their eyes out for Crowley, protecting themselves against the heavenly beings that disliked them, killing monsters—and apart from that, they had a particular woman from Purgatory threatening the country, and probably the whole world too. _Just peachy—_

Aubrey's thoughts abruptly came to a stop when, in the still silence of her room, she heard the unmistakable sound of an engine sputtering to a stop. She was on her feet in seconds, keeping them light so as to not make the floorboards creak. Warily, she approached her window and stuck a finger into the curtains. Peeking through the tiny slit she was able to make, a sigh of relief escaped her lips as she saw that it was Sam and Dean. The light from the front porch dimly illuminated the Impala; the black didn't stand out very much from the dark patch of dusty ground.

After quietly slipping on a pair of pajama pants and her jacket, Aubrey was able to escape her bedroom with minimal noise. She was down the stairs and out the front door in a flash. She didn't realize just how long she'd been lying awake in her room until she noticed the light paleness of the sky above her. The stars had disappeared, and clouds were starting to form once more. The sun would show itself in about an hour or so.

The early morning air was cold. Aubrey pulled her jacket tighter around her, a grin already spreading across her face as she saw Sam and Dean standing by one of the backdoors of the Impala. She approached them excitedly. "So! How was the hunt—?"

She stopped in her tracks when she saw Sam throw a lifeless, dark-skinned man over his shoulder, grunting under his weight, and she was quick enough to discern that it was the one and only Rufus Turner.

"WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED?" The yell had escaped her throat before she even realized it. She'd forgotten that it was so early in the morning, and the other occupants in the house were still asleep. That didn't stop her breathing from turning ragged when she saw Dean heave another body out of the car—this time, Bobby's. "Oh shit—"

"Help me," Dean said through gritted teeth. Aubrey rushed forward, practically dragging her feet through the wet-with-dew ground. She wove her head through the loop of Bobby's limp arm; from the corner of her eye, she saw Dean do the same. They were both tall enough for the old man's legs to be high enough in the air, but he showed no signs of life, and as Aubrey and Dean walked, Bobby's feet lugged through the soft ground like wheels on a truck.

Aubrey grunted in exertion, only intensifying the heavy feeling on her chest; she could feel Bobby breathing, but it was shallow and very, very weak. "What happened?" she asked again, and though it was lower this time, the panic had not left her voice. Sam walked in front of them as they slowly but surely made their way into the house, and Aubrey was sure that Rufus was just as heavy as Bobby, so the younger Winchester must have been having a hard time.

Dean answered her, "Monster got inside Samuel. We had to kill him but the thing got away anyway." He was speaking with such grit in his words that Aubrey could barely make them out behind the sound of Bobby's dragging feet. "It got inside Bobby—he stabbed Rufus."

They were inside the kitchen now, because the living room was too far ahead. Aubrey and Dean wiped the objects off the dining table and carried Bobby onto it, but from the corner of her eye, she saw Sam continuing deeper into the house. A few moments afterwards he returned, Rufus no longer draped over his shoulder. Aubrey glanced over his shoulder and into the doorway to the living room, where she saw Rufus lying on the sofa, so casually splayed across it that he might have been sleeping, and her heart clenched.

"And Bobby?" she inquired; her voice broke just staring at the lifeless hunter at the other room, and she tried to push back the lump in her throat… twice.

"Had to electrocute him," said Dean. "It was the only way to get the thing out of him. It might have been too much though… I mean, you know Bobby—"

"Did you do CPR on him?"

"What? No. Why would we—"

"If he was electrocuted and he wasn't breathing, then you should have given him CPR. It would have been the best thing to do."

"He's breathing again, isn't he?" Dean argued, though not callously. "We love the guy and all but we didn't really want to… you know." He cleared his throat. "We gave him compressions, though, so it must have been enough."

"We can't know that for sure," Aubrey grumbled, more to herself. She hovered, the two brothers standing across from her and the three of them stared down at the old man on the table; his breathing was starting to get steadier; Aubrey could see the subtle rise and fall of his chest, and it gave her hope. But then she remembered Rufus, and the fire in her was extinguished.

"Where'd you electrocute him?" she suddenly asked, not wanting to wade into silence, especially with the boys standing right in front of her. The question fell from her lips numbly, and the feeling scared her. Sam tipped Bobby's head to the side, and Aubrey was able to see the thick line of charred skin on the nape of his neck.

Her frown deepened. "We'll have to get some bandages on that." Without another word, Dean left the room to find bandages. Aubrey and Sam were left in the room, alone with the man they'd come to know as a father more than an uncle. That is, until she heard a loud gasp coming from the side.

She whipped her head around and found little Aiden standing beneath the doorway, his lips quivering. His wide eyes were glued to Bobby, and if that had shocked him, he must have not seen Rufus in the other room.

"How long have you been standing there?" Aubrey snapped. She hadn't meant to sound so cold, but he wasn't supposed to be there. The sight of a limp Bobby was for her and the brothers' eyes and them only.

Aiden shifted on his feet nervously. "Just now…"

"Where's your dad?"

He opened his small mouth to answer, but suddenly the floorboards behind him creaked. Greg strode into view, immediately putting his hand on Aiden's shoulder; his face was gentle, but his voice dripped with worry when he said, "I thought I told you to wake me up when you wanted to get out of bed." The final words had just left his mouth when he seemed to notice Aubrey and Sam standing in the room with him. His eyes fell on them before falling on Bobby, and then they bulged out of their sockets in shock: "What—"

"Take Aiden to the room," Aubrey interjected sharply. "Go back to sleep, alright? I'll explain everything in the morning." And yet he did not move from his spot. She softened her gaze, but even then she knew Sam was watching everything from behind her. "Everything's fine. It's nothing you need to worry about," she told Greg softly. "Please: sleep."

Greg held her gaze for a moment longer, and an understanding seemed to have passed between them; her desperate, pleading, tear-coated eyes, with his confused, and maybe slightly frightened ones. He squeezed Aiden's shoulder and turned them both around. "Let's go back upstairs, okay, bud?"

Aiden finally tore his eyes away from Bobby to look up at his father. "What's wrong with Bobby?" he asked in an innocent voice.

"He fell asleep in the car, sweetie," Aubrey answered for Greg. Thankfully, before his son could ask more, he led them back up the stairs. On the way, Aubrey could hear Aiden continue asking questions, but Greg would give a short reply that seemed to be the same one every time, and the boy would fall silent.

Then Dean appeared from down the hall, a box of first aid packed neatly in his hand. "Here," he said, handing Aubrey the box. She gingerly took it and set it down on the space beside Bobby's head. Opening it, she found a single roll of medical tape, two half-empty bottles of antiseptic, a sewing needle at the bottom, three clean cotton balls, and a box of bandage squares. She soaked a layer of one of the cotton balls with antiseptic and rubbed it across the charred skin on Bobby's neck. Then she took a single bandage square, peeled it, and placed it on the charred area. It stuck there, and she turned around to face the Winchesters, who had watched her every move with anxious eyes.

She smiled half-heartedly at them. "That's about all we can do for him right now."

Dean frowned. "Not all." He looked at Aubrey with a piercing gaze, and Aubrey looked at Sam, and though no words escaped any of their lips, they understood each other perfectly. At the same time, they turned around and made their way to the living room, where Rufus had not moved a centimeter from his place on the sofa. It was the first time Aubrey had seen him, and yet it seemed to her that she had known him for years because of the things Bobby had told her about him, of the adventures they'd had together. She was saddened by the fact that, even in death, he still wore a scowl, and the hard lines on his face were as apparent as ever because of his paler-than-normal flesh.

Sam lifted him off the sofa, this time, with Dean helping him. And as they walked ahead back outside, Aubrey trudged silently to Bobby's back room, where she retrieved three shovels.

* * *

The sun's rays had already spread across the small acre by the time they finished with Rufus' grave. It came out as decent as they could make it in the short amount of time, with the soil as flat as they could have it. The Jewish cemetery in which they had buried Rufus Turner was chilly, and their breaths came out in short wisps of mist, but Aubrey could barely feel the cold as her arms and legs were numb from the effort of digging the grave. She ignored the ache, though, as she and Dean and Sam stared down at where Rufus lied.

On arriving there, Bobby had woken up, much to the younger hunters' relief. When he found out what they were about to do, however, he had exited the car and left Aubrey and the brothers to bury the body. She didn't object.

Now footsteps crunched from the fallen leaves behind her, and she took a quick glance over her shoulder to see Bobby standing directly behind her and the Winchesters, staring down at the grave of his fallen friend; it was unmarked.

"I got to say," said Dean, breaking the silence. "I never figured Rufus for the religious type."

Bobby cracked a small smile. "Well, he didn't exactly keep kosher," he slowly said. "He always used to pull the old "Can't work on the Sabbath" card whenever we had to bury a body." Sam chuckled half-heartedly beside Aubrey, and then there was a pause. "You know… I was just a job." She listened to Bobby speaking without looking at him. "I was Joe Mechanic. Then my wife got possessed… went nuts on me. I stabbed her, and that didn't stop her. Next thing I knew, this guy comes busting in, soaks her with holy water and sends that demon straight to hell so fast…

"I'd have gone away for killing her, but… Rufus cleaned up everything, taught me a thing or two about what's really out there. Pretty soon, we were riding together. Worked like that for years, kind of like you three knuckleheads."

Aubrey smiled, but inside her heart was breaking.

"So what happened?" Sam suddenly asked, making her turn to look at Bobby.

He sighed. "It was Omaha… It was my fault. He never let it go—"

"Well, he should have," Dean cut in. Aubrey looked away from Bobby, returning her gaze to the loose soil in front of them. From the corner of her eye, she saw Bobby shake his head.

"You don't know what I did, Dean."

"Doesn't matter."

"What do you mean _doesn't matter_—"

"I mean at the end of the day, you two are family," said Dean, his voice filled with so much conviction that Aubrey had only heard from him once or twice. "Life's short, and ours are shorter than most. We're gonna spend it wringing out hands? Something's gonna get us eventually. And when my guts get ripped out, just so you three know: we're good." Aubrey smirked slightly. "Blanket apology for all the crap that anybody's done, all the way around."

Sam sighed quietly. "Some of us pulled a lot of crap, Dean."

"Well, clean slate."

The boys shared a look with each other behind Aubrey's head (though she noticed it anyway). Sam nodded, finally agreeing. "Okay."

Gratitude surged from the confines of Aubrey's heart. She felt so lucky to have the boys with her. With everything that was happening, she wasn't sure if she could ever revert back to hunting by herself again.

A moment of silence passed where none of them dared say a word. Then Bobby slipped a tall paper bag from a pocket beneath his jacket, and from said paper bag, he revealed a bottle of Blue Label Johnny Walker. By the way smiles ghosted over Sam's and Dean's lips, it must have been a drink very special to Rufus. She'd never tasted it herself, but knew there was a first time for everything. Bobby pulled the cork off and poured some of the alcohol onto Rufus' grave as an act of remembrance. She watched the motion with sad eyes.

She said a silent prayer in her head, looking up from the grave to stare at the sky. The dawn had come, and she could feel the consecutive sleepless nights weighing down on her. Nevertheless, she did not close her eyes for more than a second. A hand softly grazed her elbow and she turned to find Dean looking at her with meaningful eyes. He flicked them to Bobby, and she understood.

After squeezing Bobby's shoulder gently (because she couldn't bear with herself knowing she had left him without a single notion of acknowledgement), Aubrey followed Sam and Dean back to the Impala. It waited for them in a clearing near the graveyard, in open ground where anyone could see.

It was a blue sunrise, and they had suffered a terrible loss, and Aubrey couldn't help but to think there was no such being that was cruel enough to interrupt them at such a time of mourning.

* * *

**This part was so depressing I swear to GOD.**

**... Reviewwww. x'DD**


	40. Chapter 40

**I KNOW THIS UPDATE IS LATE AND I HAVE EXCUSES BUT I KNOW YOU GUYS DON'T WANT TO HEAR THAT SO I WON'T SAY SHIT.**

**i AM sorry though. :( and next chapter comes right up. ;)**

**P.S. LRMS IS GOIN FOR THE GOLD, BABY! BALL IS LIFE!**

* * *

When they came back from the cemetery, it was 7 in the morning and Greg was already awake, waiting for them (or Aubrey in particular) in the living room. Dean, however, regarded the parent sitting casually on the couch with an uninterested look.

He patted Aubrey's shoulder and muttered into her ear, "We'll be catching some sleep." From over her shoulder, she watched as he pulled Sam, who had only just stepped through the threshold, back out the door. A few seconds passed and she heard the Impala's door closing. Then Bobby walked through the door; he didn't meet Aubrey's gaze, though, when he trudged up the stairs with what seemed to be heavy feet.

Aubrey turned back around to face Greg, who had watched the events as much as she had, but with more confusion, she was sure. Sighing softly, she briskly walked to the kitchen and pulled out a bottle of beer from the fridge before returning to the living room and plopping onto the stool across from Greg. She twisted the cap off her beer and took a large swig; it was ice-cold, and she felt the iciness of it trickle down her throat and into her stomach, waking her up.

"What happened to Bobby?" Greg asked, his question cutting into the silence.

A small smile trailed up Aubrey's lips, but it didn't reach her eyes. "That hunt Bobby and the boys went on," she started slowly, "It didn't exactly go as planned… The monster turned out to be something we hadn't ever seen before, and—" Her voice broke, and she tried playing it off as thirstiness; she took another large gulp of beer, but Greg stared at her with suspicious eyes. "They ran into an old friend though; he helped them kill the thing. But on hunts, you know, you never get back without new scars." She of all people should know.

Her eyes flickered upwards when Greg leaned forward in his seat. "Bobby got knocked out?"

"Something like that." Aubrey grimaced, but she was determined to start telling Greg the truth; he deserved it. "The monster kind of got into him, possessed him. Sam and Dean did what they had to to get the thing out."

"I saw you leaving a few hours ago," Greg said. "Where'd you go?"

This was the question she had been hoping would never come. "The cemetery."

"What for?"

"To bury someone, what do you think?" It was all Aubrey could do not to snap, but she was pretty close. With much effort, she reigned herself in and drank her beer. _You're just tired,_ she thought silently. _Don't snap at him._ "That old friend I mentioned, he was… Bobby stabbed him." She regarded Greg's appalled look and quickly added, "It was while he was possessed, so you don't need to worry about him being up to no good or anything…" She trailed off, closing her eyes. "I should have been there."

To her surprise, Greg said, "It's not your fault."

"I should have gone with them," she muttered, shaking her head. "Bobby should have stayed; I would have been more careful. No one would have gotten hurt if I went instead of him. Rufus would still be alive and kicking, and—" Aubrey stopped, realizing she'd practically been saying these things to herself, too low for Greg to have heard anything.

She looked up to find Greg watching her with worried eyes.

"Jen…_Aubrey_," he corrected himself. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," said Aubrey, but then realized that she had muttered it again; Greg hadn't heard, and by that time, she was starting to think that something may have bitten her or something because she was starting to feel dizzy. Was she still trying to convince Greg, or herself?

"I'm fine," she repeated once more, but the dullness in her brain had crept into her ears and she didn't hear what Greg had said to her. Had he even said _anything_? Aubrey felt a hand clamp around her shoulder and her head snapped up.

Greg stood in front of her, a concerned look on his face. His lips were moving but she couldn't make out the words through the ringing sound in her ears. She unclasped her fingers from her beer bottle, which had turned scalding hot in her hand, and made a move to pry Greg's hand from her shoulder. She'd barely touched his wrist, however, when he pulled it away anyway.

A startled yelp escaped his mouth: "Aubrey—!" She stared at the spot her finger had grazed for a long moment, looking through the dark circles that were dancing across her vision. There was a small red welt on the curve of his wrist.

There came a faint idea of what was happening to her, and Aubrey pulled herself off the stool and stumbled farther away from Greg. "Pour cold water on that," she told him, though she couldn't even feel her own lips so she wasn't sure if the words even came out correctly. The ringing in her ears became louder, and she didn't wait for Greg to reply. She whirled around and staggered down the hall and up the stairs; it was all she could do not to hurl on the final step.

Her footsteps were anything but quiet by then but she couldn't bring herself to fuss about Aiden waking up. He had gotten enough sleep, which was more than she'd ever had.

Once inside her bedroom, Aubrey slammed the door shut and locked it. She wasn't very sure about what was happening to her, but her Powers were going haywire, and she couldn't risk anyone coming into her room while she was having a Phoenix meltdown. Shivers suddenly erupted up and down her arms, even beneath the jeans she'd made due to change into before driving to the cemetery. She threw herself onto the bed and cocooned herself within the blankets, ignoring the fact that she could feel the steam rising off them as it sizzled against her burning hot skin.

She shut her eyes, and barely a second had passed before she blacked out completely.

* * *

_Through the extreme agony, I catch glimpses of a mountain beneath a cavern and in the middle of a large, murky sea. It is dark, in every sense of the word; barely visual, and only seen because of the gaping hole that's on the ceiling of the cavern. I blink, and in a flash I'm in front of two stone doors. They open, and suddenly everything is bigger than I would have previously imagined._

_ I see seven floors, but that's only because I crane my neck. There are stairs—millions upon millions of steps that I can't imagine climbing. Yet there are hundreds of people on each floor, carrying what seem to be books on their backs. I blink again and I see that they aren't books, but massive boulders the size of young trees. They are stacked atop of one another, and I watch as some people fail to keep them upright. They are thrown over the staircase and they fall into the dark pit below, but there is no hint of them ever hitting the ground._

_ The burning feeling is barely noticeable now; still there, but not enough to quench my curiosity. I blink again, and I'm suddenly floating up the steps. My feet don't feel the floor as I climb, but I notice that as I pass each floor, the boulders on each person's back start falling, one by one. When they do pass a floor and one boulder falls, however, the person doesn't get thrown into the pit. Their faces flicker into something colorful, happy, almost, and they continue climbing. I look up and stare at the darkness that is the ceiling of the mountain. I blink, and the dull, grey scene before me vanishes._

_ Instead, I am standing in the middle of a vast greenhouse. Plants and ferns and trees of all shapes and sizes surround me. But looming directly above me is a tree that is larger than any of them, taking up perhaps half of the penthouse. Hanging from its thick branches are shiny little red orbs. I didn't think fruits could be beautiful, but here I am, making a move to touch it when I suddenly feel a tugging in my stomach, as if I'm being pulled back… as if I'm not allowed._

_ Above me, the branches of the tree start shaking, and I look up just in time to see the thin, green snake, which I thought before was just an odd leaf, uncoiling itself from a branch and springing towards my face. It opens its mouth; a feral hiss escapes it as its fangs appear. My hands act of their own accord, flying upward to shield my face from the strike that was sure to come, but then I'm not there anymore._

_ I'm no longer standing in the quaint penthouse, surrounded by undergrowth and foliage, but a place which is much more familiar._

_The golden stalks around me look as menacing as ever, swaying in the wind, as well as the tree only a few yards away. I've barely taken a step when a strong gust of wind comes and pushes the grass towards me. One stalk grazes my skin and suddenly I'm burning again. Then another, and another, and another, until finally all of them have overwhelmed me, making me lose my footing so I am lying on the scalding hot ground._

_ The fire has returned; no longer golden grass that looks so innocent at first glance. My mind turns numb once more as I feel nothing else but the pain, see nothing else but the flames that dance across my skin, hear nothing else but my own screams that echo in the distance, and the roaring of the fire that threatens to engulf the very being of me—_

* * *

Aubrey gasped awake. Her eyes darted around her room, looking for the snake that was about to lunge. Her ears were pricked, expecting to hear the crackle of the fire that was how it always began. But there was nothing. Everything was as she'd left it: her door locked, and the curtains closed. Bright sunlight streams through the cracks, however, sending thin rectangles of light dancing up and down the floor.

There was a foul taste in her mouth. Grimacing at the feel of her tongue, Aubrey threw her blankets off, only stopping to stare at them when she'd pulled herself onto her feet. Several places were charred, most especially the one her hands had been gripping for the whole night; that one had burned through. Frowning, Aubrey leaned over her bed and pressed a finger to the sheets. She half-expected the cloth to start sizzling, but it didn't, and that was a good thing.

She slowly trudged to the bathroom, where she proceeded to splash her face with cold water. Some drops trickled down her neck and into her blouse, where it continued down her chest, and she savored the icy feeling. The dream… or the memory, most likely, was still fresh in her mind, as well as the burning sensations. Aubrey found it odd that she'd already had another blackout after such a short period of time; it hadn't even been a week.

She huffed, worry threatening to spill over but she wasn't going to let that happen. If anything was wrong, then they'd find out soon enough. But she wasn't going to push herself to concerning so much. Besides, she could still tell what was real and what wasn't; it hadn't become harder despite the flashbacks, and she took it as good news, normal news.

It was hinting to be a very beautiful day, guessing from the light streaming into her room. Aubrey glanced at the clock on her bedside table and saw that it was 9 in the morning. She'd only been sleeping for two hours, and she couldn't help herself but to worry slightly. That time span was _much_ longer than the previous blackouts she'd had, and she'd only had three so far. What was with the abrupt time jump?

Aubrey, after telling herself to keep it under control, unlocked her door and walked outside.

The hallway was quiet. She suspected that Aiden was still asleep, but she couldn't be sure for Greg and Lorraine. Then she remembered the events of the previous day, and all memories of her blackout were extinguished, replaced by a sad anticipation of how Bobby would be feeling, as well as Sam and Dean—the hunt gone insanely wrong, Rufus, his unmarked grave… _It's going to be an interesting day,_ and she didn't mean it in the good sense.

Downstairs, she found that Sam and Dean weren't anywhere inside the house. Bobby was, though, in his study, a phone to his ear as he spoke rapidly into it. Aubrey knocked on the wooden doorway just as he ended the call. "Mornin', sunshine," he said, looking at her with wide eyes.

"Morning," Aubrey replied cheerfully. His look didn't change and her smile faltered. "What is it?"

"Do you know what day it is?" he asked her, and she frowned in confusion.

"Tuesday, isn't it?" _The same day we buried Rufus,_ she thought she might need to add, but bit her tongue anyway.

Her stomach lurched when Bobby shook his head. "No," he said. "It's Wednesday, Aub."

"I was out for a _day_?" Aubrey exclaimed. "Really?" A day? It was much worse than she thought; two hours back in Purgatory and it had actually been a day… she would choose two hours any day but the choice wasn't hers to make. What had made her black out for so long? Was it because she was exhausted, because she hadn't been sleeping for a while? It had never happened before, so why was it happening now?

Bobby was looking at her with a thoughtful expression and she shook herself out of her thoughts. Determined to stray away from her own train of thought, she asked, "Well, what did you do all day yesterday?"

"Went to the Campbell Library," he answered, and Aubrey raised an eyebrow. The old man shrugged. "It's a long story, nothing important. What's important is what we found in one of the books there."

"What'd you find?"

He nodded at the backdoor. "I think the boys would want to be here when I break it to you. Go fetch 'em for me, will ya? They should be awake by now."

"Uh, alright…" Aubrey trailed off, taking quick glances over her shoulder at the hunter who sat behind his desk, staring at her as well. What had they found that was so important they needed to be there to tell Aubrey?

She found them standing by the Impala, Dean with his hands in his pockets and Sam as rigid as a stick, both staring at an imaginary something in front of them. Aubrey observed the spot they were looking at and found a single pair of footprints. And she had an inkling to whom they belonged to.

"Cas was here?" she demanded, quite loudly. The boys' heads snapped to the side and her question was met with wide, surprised eyes.

"A—Aubrey?" Sam stammered.

She grumbled, "Yeah, who else would want to kick that damn angel's butt so bad?" She glared at Cas' footprints, wishing he was still standing there so she could finally unleash her anger, for it was starting to become rather arduous to stay angry at him. She wanted to keep the anger so he would finally get what was coming to him. However, Aubrey forced herself to focus on the present; Bobby was still waiting for them inside.

"Anyway," she started over. "What's up with you two? You look like someone slapped your butts or something."

"N—no, nothing like that…" Dean said, trailing off as he shook his head. "I'm guessing you didn't have the same dream we did?"

"No," Aubrey grumbled in reply, walking over to the angel's footprints and grinding the heel of her foot over them. She did her best not to remember the flashbacks, and it was surprisingly easy. She decided not to broach the topic, not yet. "Why?" she asked Dean. "What dream did you have? And by 'we' I'm just assuming the two _separate_ dreams you had—"

"We had the same dream," Sam interjected. "Except it wasn't a dream, it was some sort of alternate reality—"

"Like the place Balthazar zapped us into before, when we were on the run from Raphael and that Virgil guy?" Aubrey asked; her curiosity was piqued.

"Yeah… no, wait, sort of…" He turned to his older brother for help, stumbling over his own words so he just said, "Dean?"

Dean sighed heavily. "You've heard of the Titanic, right?" he asked Aubrey, to which she nodded her head. "Good. So yesterday—or last night, I'm not sure—Balthazar _unsank_ it."

Aubrey froze. "You're joking."

"Nope," said Dean. "So he unsank it, and that sort of made a brand new chain of events that changed history: meaning, passengers had kids. And then there was this whole deal with this bitch trying to kill the descendants of the passengers because apparently they were never supposed to be born and she was trying to right the wrong and stuff, and—"

"Wait." Aubrey held up her finger, halting the hunter's long and tacky explanation. "Who's this 'bitch' we're talking about?"

"Fate."

It took her a moment to understand. "_Fate_," she repeated. "As in _the_ Fates, Greek mythology Fates?"

"Well, not really, we only had to deal with one of 'em but still—" Dean pointed accusing fingers at her and Sam. "I pegged Sam to be a geek, but you, Aubrey? _Really_?"

"Shut up." Her mind was struggling to keep up already. "So she tried to kill the Titanic kids. And?"

"And she found out we were trying to stop her," Sam continued. "Turns out, she and her sisters kind of have it in for us, since we stopped the Apocalypse and all. She tried to kill us, but Cas zapped us out of there and resank the Titanic just in time."

Aubrey raised an unfeeling eyebrow. "He killed thousands of people to save you?" It did sound like Cas, and sinking the Titanic did sound like something Balthazar would do (because he was reckless), but her being upset with Castiel made her feel defiant.

Dean cleared his throat. "In his words: _They were never born. That's far different from being killed, wouldn't you say?_"

In other circumstances, Aubrey would have laughed at the mediocrity of Dean's impression of the angel's voice, but she felt the whole conversation was too serious for her to burst out laughing. Cas had killed thousands of people for Sam and Dean. Did that mean they owed him yet again? Perhaps. But it in no way released him from her grudge. He promised her he would answer her prayers consisting Aiden and Greg, and the first time she prayed, he didn't come.

She shifted on her feet just as a new question arose from the back of her head: "And where was I in all of this? Why don't I remember anything?"

"Well…" Dean was about to answer, but he looked at Sam at the last moment, and the younger brother nodded in understanding, though he looked just as uncertain.

"You were with us when we were going around town to investigate and stuff," he said, pursing his lips. "But by the end, you sort of… died."

To her own surprise, Aubrey smirked. She shouldn't have, she knew, for Sam's revelation was, in all prospects, to be taken seriously. He and his brother seemed to be shaken with what they'd seen, but knowing what she was, Aubrey was confident that she would have just come back anyway. She was still curious, however, so she inquired, "How'd I die?"

"Crushed by a falling piano," Dean answered hastily.

Aubrey blinked. "Damn, Fate is _crafty_." She chuckled. "Anyway, you can forget all about that. It's over and done with. Bobby wants you inside." She gestured over her shoulder and into the house before turning around and starting on the walk there; before she could step through the doorway, however, she felt someone grab her elbow and gently yank her backwards again.

It was Dean. "Before we go back," he started slowly. "Why the hell were you asleep for the whole day yesterday?"

She didn't like lying to the boys, and several months ago she learned the kind of wrath Dean would give her if she ever did. So, she didn't lie… but it was difficult. "I walked out on Greg yesterday morning," she explained carefully. "It was my Powers, they kind of… went rogue. I ran to my bedroom, but the sheets kind of got burned while I was asleep."

Sam stepped forward, but by the look on his face Aubrey discerned that he was more concerned than interested. "It was the flashbacks," he said, and it wasn't a question, "Of Purgatory."

Hesitantly, Aubrey replied, "Yeah." She felt like she was walking on thin ice. The looks Sam and Dean were giving her were unnerving, but she reassured herself by thinking, _At least I didn't lie._ It barely got her through the final couple of moments.

"Well, are you okay?" said Dean, a worried edge in his voice.

"I am." Aubrey nodded. "Seriously, it's not as bad as you're probably thinking. Sam's is worse, I'll tell you that." She regarded the younger Winchester questioningly. He pursed his lips and hung his head low.

"Right," he said. "Anyway… why'd Bobby want us inside?"

"Something about finding something in the Campbell Library yesterday." Aubrey frowned when Dean frowned. "You were with him, right?"

"Yeah, we were," he said, and this time, it was him who led the way back into the house. "Let's not keep him waiting any longer."

* * *

**what do you think she saw in her flashback? [wink wink]**


	41. Chapter 41

**okay so when i first came up with the Phoenix concept, i thought i was being hella original and that it was the most brilliant idea i had ever come up with. and then GUESS WHAT ELLESMER, ERIC KRIPKE ALREADY THOUGHT OF IT BEFORE YOU.**

**but yeah, i had to adjust. i'm satisfied with this though. :) next chapter continues into Aubrey and the boys' adventures in Wyoming.**

**I DO NOT OWN ANYTHIN EXCEPT AUBREY AND A FEW OTHER OC'S.**

* * *

"_The ashes of a Phoenix can burn the Mother,_" Aubrey read, pondering on it for a moment before shutting the book and raising her eyes to meet the three hunters' gazes. "So you plan on ganking Aiden and me anytime soon?"

Bobby was appalled. "What? No!" He leaned forward in his seat. "Look, we're not _ganking_ either of you. We're gonna look for another Phoenix, gank _him_, and we have ourselves a weapon for the Mother of All."

"Yeah, but there's not _another one_," she argued tiredly. "An archangel said it himself; me and Aiden are the only ones left."

"Yeah, but look at this," Dean said. He revealed a leather bound journal from beneath the piles of books on Bobby's desk. Engraved on the front was a Devil's Trap. "This was Samuel Colt's."

_Was?_ Aubrey wanted to ask, but then thought the answer was quite obvious. She stared at the book in reverence, and was about to reach out for it when Dean handed it to her anyway, already open on a page filled with scribbles.

He pointed to a rather short entry. "Read that."

It was slightly difficult to understand the writing, but Aubrey couldn't complain. Her handwriting wasn't exactly valedictorian material. With all the doctor's letters and coroner's reports she'd read in her time, though, she was able to make out the words, more or less.

"_March 5, 1861—Sunrise, Wyoming,_" she read aloud. "_Gun killed a Phoenix today, left a pile of smoldering ash._" The words brought a lump to her throat; Samuel Colt had been one of the people to continue the extinction of her species. Using the Colt, no less, a gun Aubrey had wanted to use again. Why had he killed it, though? Aubrey couldn't help but to ponder on the possibility that the Phoenix he had killed had been evil, had done the wrong things to bring a hunter to notice. And so it was dead before it could even say _Purgatory_.

Aubrey frowned down at the page, saying, "Are you thinking what I think you're thinking?" Through her eyelashes, she caught Sam and Dean nodding. "Am I allowed to say that it's a stupid idea?"

"No," Dean shot back. "How is it a stupid idea anyway?"

"How do you plan on getting there, on that date? I mean, we don't exactly have a time machine in the backyard."

"Not in the backyard," said Dean, pointing to the ceiling with a smirk growing on his face. "We have one upstairs."

Her eyes trailed upwards and she caught up immediately. "Cas?" she said, and Dean nodded. Aubrey could see the excited glint in his eye, and scoffed. "Good luck getting him down here. He wouldn't answer last time I called him."

For a brief moment, she caught Sam's eye, and silently begged for his agreement. He only shrugged, though, and said, "It's worth a shot."

She wasn't sure if he'd forgotten her sense of irritation towards the angel, or if he was just really desperate to find a Phoenix. Then Aubrey started feeling annoyed with herself because she was supposed to be desperate as well. Getting Phoenix Ash would take them one step closer to defeating the Mother of All and once again averting the end of the world, but instead Aubrey was willing to jeopardize the mission because of an argument she was waiting to happen.

In every sense of the word, she was being childish.

So, swallowing her retorts back down, Aubrey slumped against her seat and crossed her arms, willing her body temperature to keep cool. Dean had already stood up and started praying:

"Castiel," he started. "The, uh, fate of the world is in the balance. So, come on down here." He cracked one eye open and playfully took a sweeping glance around the room. Nothing happened. "Come on, Cas! _I Dream of Jeannie_ your ass down here pronto. Please." Aubrey rolled her eyes, about to stop him then and there and suggest another strategy when the sound of fluttering wings filled the room. She bolted to her feet, not because she was finally going to land a punch, but because it wasn't Castiel who had appeared in the room.

It was a woman, looking to be in her late thirties, with straight hair the same color as Aubrey's and a square jaw. She wore an immaculate business suit, but instead of a dress shirt she had a dull blue blouse beneath her coat. Her lips were pulled into what resembled a smile, but it looked rather cold to Aubrey's eyes.

"Jeannie?" said Dean in a questioning voice, cutting into the silence.

The woman regarded him with unsympathetic eyes. "Rachel," she corrected. "I understand you need some assistance? How can I help you?" By then, Aubrey had already understood who this Rachel was, or perhaps just inkling, but it was sure to be close enough. Nevertheless, she kept her mouth shut, because it wasn't with this particular angel she wanted to pick a fight with. Rachel's eyes were on her, however, and Aubrey guessed that Castiel had already informed her of exactly what she was.

The female angel's gaze cut through her, but Aubrey defiantly glared back as Dean said, "We kind of need to talk to the Big Kahuna."

Rachel averted her stare from Aubrey, turning it to the older Winchester instead. "I am here on Castiel's behalf," she told him.

Aubrey leaned closer to Sam and whispered, "Told you."

He looked at her for a fraction of a second before meeting Rachel's eyes. "Where is _he_?" he asked.

"Busy," the angel replied immediately; even her voice held a hint of malice, and Aubrey deducted that she wasn't exactly willing when Castiel ordered her to come down from heaven to help a bunch of lower humans.

Her jaw was set when Aubrey cut in: "Busy?"

"Yes." Rachel was looking at her again but Aubrey didn't squirm. She held the angel's gaze with as much boldness as she could muster but said nothing more; she had to bite the inside of her cheek, and only after a few seconds, blood started pouring onto her tongue. The metallic taste filled her mouth almost immediately and she swallowed it all down.

Dean was arguing with Rachel: "Well, we have got a line on the Mother of freaking _Everything_, so—"

"I'm sure your issue is very important," Rachel interrupted in a monotone voice. "But Castiel is currently commanding an _army_, so—"

"So we get stuck with Miss Money Penny," said Aubrey, sighing characteristically and plumping back down onto her chair. She glared at Rachel, whose smile had finally slipped off her face.

"So you need to learn your place." Her voice dropped an octave, and yet Aubrey continued to antagonize her.

"Look, I don't know who you think you are, but—"

"I'm his friend."

"And you think we aren't?"

The angel didn't let her retort slide by. "I think you call him when you need something," said Rachel, raising her voice. "We're fighting a war."

Across Aubrey, Sam scoffed. "We get that—"

"Clearly, you don't!" Rachel finally snapped. By that time, Aubrey had already pulled herself onto her feet once more. She wasn't going to take a bitch angel's accusations with her butt on a chair. "Or you wouldn't call him every time you stub your toe, you petty, _entitled_ little piece—"

"Rachel."

Aubrey's eyes snapped to the source of the new voice in the room, but she reeled them back milliseconds later as soon as she caught a glimpse of who it was. She started biting the inside of her cheek again, but it began hurting too much so she settled for running her tongue over the damaged flesh inside her mouth, practically cleaning the blood off.

She kept her eyes on the ground as the conversation continued and the tense air in the room began to evaporate.

"That's enough," said Castiel.

"I told you I'd take care of this," came the reply, and a jolt ran through Aubrey at the sudden weakness of Rachel's voice, the obvious respect she felt, and the embarrassment.

"It's alright. You can go."

"You're staying—?"

"_Go_." Even then, his voice remained gentle. "I'll come when I can."

A long moment passed before Aubrey finally heard Rachel fly off. From the corner of her eye, she saw Sam relax in his seat; the same went for Bobby and Dean, but she remained as rigid as ever.

"Wow," Dean exclaimed. "Friend of yours?"

"Yes," Castiel said. "She's my lieutenant. She's… committed to the cause."

Aubrey thought she had it under control. But when she raised her eyes and found the angel's eyes on her, her stomach seemed to flip in over itself. She hadn't even realized she had taken a step forward before Bobby's voice entered her ears. He said, "Don't hit him, Aubrey."

"Thanks for reminding me," she replied through gritted teeth. She carried another foot forward, already bringing her arm back when Dean was suddenly squeezing her elbow. He said nothing, but tightened his grip and heaved her backward until she was standing shoulder to shoulder beside him.

Castiel frowned. "You're upset," he said, and an irritated snarl escaped Aubrey's throat.

"You told me you would answer if I ever called on you about Aiden," she yelled. "Did you fucking answer? No, you didn't!" She had stopped struggling against Dean, but it was taking all of her willpower not to throw herself onto the angel and hit whatever she could. "Now even Dean calls and you send your _minion_ to help us?"

"You have to understand—" Castiel tried to cut in, but Sam beat him to it.

"It was sort of a shady move, Cas," he said.

"And I wouldn't have given a crap if you didn't answer Dean," Aubrey continued, eliciting a loud argument from one of the brothers (she wasn't sure which) that was quickly drowned out by her voice. "But this was the second time you've put us on hold, and I'll be damned if I don't give you a piece of my mind after you've—"

"I am doing everything I can!" Castiel shouted. "Heaven is at war—"

"And the Mother of All is going to enslave humanity! Or are we just too puny and useless for you to actually give a shit?"

The angel's equally loud response was lost, and Aubrey knew that she'd hit a chord. Castiel stood there, his eyes blazing as he continued to glare at Aubrey, who returned his heated gaze with her own. The room was captured in silence, but nothing else seemed to exist except for her and Castiel, in Aubrey's eyes. The time came, however, when Dean had to shake her out of her reverie.

"Alright, Aub," he murmured. "You've proven your point. Let's sit back down before anyone starts bleeding, okay?"

She said nothing, but turned away from Castiel and took her seat near Bobby. The old hunter regarded her for a moment before looking to the angel, who was the second to break away from the incensed trance. "What do you need?"

* * *

Finding out that they only had twenty-four hours to get the Ashes put Aubrey in a considerably worse mood than before, but wearing the clothes Dean had salvaged for her brought her back to the edge of snapping. The pants he bought were bell-bottom, and they had never looked good on her before. The long-sleeved button-up shirt was tight around her chest area, and the sleeves were far too long that she had to fold it up to her elbows. Around her neck, he had forced her to wear some sort of handkerchief.

He had even bought cowboy hats for all three of them, but Aubrey refused to wear it until they were brought back in time. She already looked like a hobbit wearing clothes too large for her. She wasn't going to be a hobbit with clothes far too large _and_ wearing a cowboy hat.

"Congratulations, Dean Winchester," she said. "You have officially made me hate you forever."

"How do you think _I_ feel?" Sam retorted, and she couldn't help but to scoff. Despite his many complaints, he didn't look nearly as stupid as she did.

"You two," Dean's voice echoed down the stairs. "Stop complaining. You don't look stupid. You look native!"

Sam and Aubrey were already waiting for him in the living room. Everything else was ready, including their guns and their money, which was a pile of gold items, gathered together in a leather sack Bobby had fished out of the basement. Aubrey fished through the contents, determined to keep her eyes off the angel that she could feel staring at her.

Finally, the sound of Dean's footsteps carried down the corridor and he stepped into the room, clad in brown jeans, a cowboy hat, brown leather boots, and some sort of native blanket hanging over his torso. Aubrey's eyebrows rose at the sight and Bobby asked, "Are you going to a hoedown?"

"Is it… is it customary to wear a blanket?" Castiel interjected softly, and Aubrey hadn't meant to, but a small smile trailed up the corners of her lips. After yelling at the angel for about a minute, she found that it felt just as good as punching him. Her anger had finally died out, but she still felt a tiny hint of mistrust towards him, and she knew that that would take a longer time to dissolve.

Dean replied that it wasn't a blanket, but a "serape", and that it was indeed customary. Aubrey was barely listening, her thoughts travelling to Greg and Aiden. Only a few minutes ago did Bobby break to her the news that they, accompanied by Lorraine, had gone to the mall to buy clothes. Aubrey could think of a dozen or so reasons for them to have wanted to purchase new clothing, but she couldn't help but to worry. They had been gone for three or four hours, now, but maybe they had decided to have lunch there too.

_Yeah. Maybe._

"I'll send you back to March 4th," said Castiel. "That should give you time to find the Colt, and this Phoenix creature." He said it as if he hadn't ever heard of such a thing before, which would have been a lie.

"Alright," Dean replied, an excited tone clear in his voice. "Well, see you at high noon tomorrow,"—he winked at Bobby, making a clicking sound from the corner of his mouth—"_partner_."

A sigh had barely escaped Aubrey's lips before Castiel placed his hands on Sam and Dean's foreheads, and the brothers disappeared with a soft _pop_. Aubrey stared at the place where they'd been standing, anticipation making her heart pump faster. Castiel turned to her and was about to zap her back in time as well, but she stopped him just in time, and looked at Bobby.

"Make up a bribe to Aiden, will you?" she told him. "But tell Greg the truth." When he nodded, she let go of Castiel's forearm and allowed him to place his hand on her forehead; it was just as warm as she remembered it to be. She closed her eyes, expecting the familiar tug in the bottom of her stomach. Seconds passed and nothing happened, and she opened her eyes to find the angel staring at her. Aubrey opened her mouth to say something, but he was quicker.

"I _am_ sorry," he said, making Aubrey blink in surprise. Her mind became a jumble of thoughts and assumptions, but no words escaped her mouth. Before she could formulate a proper reply, the tug in her stomach came, and darkness took over for a fraction of a second before her feet crunched on sandy ground.

Overhead, a simple wooden plank hung from two poles, and it read: **SUNRISE WYO.** Puffing her cheeks out slightly, Aubrey glanced around. She stood on a wide dirt road, the forest border was a few ways behind them, and Sam and Dean were already making their way into town. Aubrey noticed the younger of the two rubbing his foot aggressively on the ground, and saw the cause, which was a large, almost imperceptible pile of dung three feet away from the entrance. Grinning from ear to ear, Aubrey quickly trailed after the two brothers, carefully avoiding the dirt pile.

* * *

"How authentic," she muttered to herself. The town was absolutely western, old, and completely unremarkable. For enthusiasts like Dean, it may have been impressive and exciting, but as Aubrey fell into step with his brother, she knew that both of them were anxious to get back to the real world.

Dean led them through the termite-ridden buildings and into what resembled a town square. Several of the townspeople seemed to be gathered there and, while Sam and Dean slipped into the crowd, Aubrey was staring at whatever… or, rather, _whoever_ the other people were looking at.

Four men were standing on what seemed to be a stage meant for hanging. The three had tattered brown clothing on, with hats similar to the ones she, Sam and Dean were wearing; an elder-looking gentleman wore fancy clothing (fancier than what anybody else had on), capped with a top hat, with thin-rimmed glasses on his nose and holding a small black book in his hands. One of the lesser men had the noose tied around his neck and was looking boldly past the crowd—past all the roofs of the buildings and at the sky, if Aubrey had to guess. There was a strange feeling in her stomach, coiling, like a snake, as if her subconscious was willing her to save the man. It was nonsense though; she didn't even know who he was, or what he had done to receive such a punishment.

Her latter musing was answered when the elder spoke:

"We stand here today—March 4, 1861—to execute justice upon Elias Finch, for the murder of his own wife…"

"Wow," said Sam from in front of Aubrey. "Talk about authenticity."

"… Sentence handed down by myself, Tye Mortimer, duly appointed judge of the Wyoming circuit," the old man on the stage continued. "You will be hung by your neck until you die."

Then one of the other men—Aubrey assumed he was the sheriff considering the faint glinting of the gold star pinned to his chest—addressed the man to be prosecuted, whose name was Elias, if Aubrey heard right.

"You got anything to say?" the sheriff asked.

Elias finally switched his gaze back down from the clouds and met Mortimer's, the sheriff's, and the other man's eyes with his cold ones. "You're gonna burn for this," he stated in a low voice, "Every one of you." A shiver ran down Aubrey's spine at his choice of words. It could have just been a coincidence he had used the term _burn_, right? She didn't want to think that this man could have been the Phoenix they were looking for, but her gut said differently. Even then, the uneasy fluttering in her stomach continued.

Silence fell upon the square for a long moment. Aubrey opened her mouth to speak, perhaps to stall for time until she found out if the prosecuted was, in fact, a Phoenix. Then in what seemed to be a reflexive action, Elias dropped his head for a second and met Aubrey's gaze. His eyes widened, and recognition dawned on his face before the only unnamed man on the stage pushed a lever. There was a loud groaning noise, and then the trap beneath Elias' feet opened. Aubrey looked away; she wouldn't have, under normal circumstances, but the realization had dawned on her that maybe she had just seen the death (but not a lasting one) of her own species.

"Good times," Dean muttered. "So where do we find Sammy Colt?"

"I think I know who to ask," Aubrey quickly replied, although her stomach had given a little flip and she didn't know whether she was going to cry or hurl, or perhaps both at the same time. At Sam and Dean's questioning expressions, she nodded at the sheriff, who was walking down the steps of the stage with Mortimer. Sam nodded in understanding, and made a move to go there because apparently he didn't want to waste time, but a random man from the crowd blocked his path, though it seemed to be unintentional.

The man regarded Sam with approval, Aubrey even more so, but when his eyes fell on Dean, his lips curled in a tight sneer. "Nice blanket," he said, before walking away, his shoulders shaking with laughter. Aubrey did her best to hide her smirk as she faced Dean, who looked rather hurt as he was taking off his _serape_. Surprisingly, he shoved it into Aubrey's arms.

"What?" she said. "You want to keep this?"

He didn't answer, instead following after Sam, who made his way to where the sheriff had gone. Aubrey looked down at the blanket in her hands and shrugged lightly, wrapping it around her waist like how she would with a jacket. _Maybe Aiden will like it,_ she mused silently.

It wasn't the saloon the sheriff had gone off to, though Aubrey had an inkling that they would arrive there soon enough. It was the 1860's version of what Aubrey supposed was a police department, but it was only the first room though and already there were four jail cells waiting at the side of the chamber. In the center of the room, there was an almost empty desk, where Mortimer and the sheriff sat. A little ways beyond that and by the wall was _another_ desk, but this one margined by drawers and a lamp. The unnamed man sat there, and along with Mortimer and the sheriff, he watched the new arrivals walk into the room.

"Sheriff," Dean started, and Aubrey was thankful that he still had the slight Texan accent. "Can we have a word?"

"Depends who's askin'," the sheriff replied coolly, raising an eyebrow.

It seemed that Dean was hoping for him to be asked that question. "Marshall Eastwood… _Clint_ Eastwood," he lied easily, opening the top button of his leather vest to reveal the fake gold pin on his chest. Aubrey didn't know whether to roll her eyes at Dean's expectant gaze, or to laugh at the deadpan expressions on the men's faces. "This here is, uh… Walker," Dean continued, gesturing to Sam, who tipped his hat, "And this is… Margaret Easley," Aubrey raised an eyebrow at how familiar the name was, but otherwise tipped her hat as well—"They're Texas Rangers."

Aubrey's arm dropped immediately, almost lifeless, at the term Dean had chosen. She definitely didn't look like a Texas Ranger. It would have been more convenient if he had said she was his partner in crime or something, because as far as she knew, Texas Rangers did _not_ wear blankets around their waists.

"Rangers, huh?" said the sheriff with a suspicious tone.

"Yes, sir," Aubrey replied, schooling on a professional face and putting on her best southern accent. The sheriff stared at her for a moment longer before looking away, though behind him, the unnamed man was practically ogling her and she had to stop herself from walking over and kicking him in the jewels.

"So," the sheriff said. "What can I do for you boys… and girl?" Aubrey smirked and tipped her hat again, because she didn't know what else people from the 1860's did to show their appreciation; though she may have done a good thing, because the sheriff smiled as well and returned the gesture, which was more than he'd done for Sam and Dean. Was he flirting? She couldn't be sure.

Sam was talking again: "We're looking for a man."

"I'll bet." This time, it was Mortimer who spoke. He looked at Sam with a slight glint in his eye then turned his gaze to Dean. "Nice shirt, there."

"What's wrong with my shirt?" Dean inquired, sounding rather defensive.

"You're very clean," said Mortimer, and Aubrey almost laughed.

"… It's dirtier than it looks—"

"We need to find Samuel Colt," Sam interjected, shooting his brother a warning glance. "Do you know him?"

"The gun maker?" the sheriff asked, and Aubrey bobbed her head once because he was looking at her.

"Yeah, is he in town?"

"Not that I know of." He lightly shook the glass in his hand, which was filled with what Aubrey supposed was whisky. "You might try askin' Elkins over at the saloon, been here longer than God."

_I doubt that._ Aubrey finally cracked an amused smile, lowering her gaze to her feet and hoping that no one would notice. Initially, however, someone did, and that someone was the sheriff. From the corners of her eyes, Aubrey made out Sam and Dean tipping their hats, but she kept the sheriff's gaze for a while longer before repeating the gesture. The sheriff nodded at her, a sparkle in his eye, and Aubrey turned around and walked out of the building.

_I already stopped acting like this, didn't I?_ she thought with a small smile. _That damn angel doesn't know what he just let go of._ Then she realized she was thinking of Castiel again, and shook her head. She quickly trailed after Sam and Dean towards the saloon, determined to keep all judgments about said angel out of her head.

They were on a job, and it was imperative that they finish it.


	42. Chapter 42

**sooooo this coming week is hell week, and then the week after that is exams week. it's pretty self-explanatory: i won't be able to update next weekend, SO i'll put up two chapters today, so you guys won't be missing out on anything. ^^**

**I DO NOT OWN SUPERNATURAL OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS; except for Aubrey and a few other OC's. They're mine.**

* * *

The saloon, apparently, wasn't what Dean expected it to be. But it was what Aubrey and Sam expected, considering what the rest of the town looked like.

The walls were lifeless and covered with dust motes, the floorboards creaked as they walked deeper into the parlour, and it wasn't filled with as many townspeople as Dean had seemingly hoped for. There were only half a dozen or so tables lined up in the middle; the bar at the end of the room was barely five feet, with only one shelf. Above the counter was the mounted head of a deer, and it stared lifelessly across the room. Though that made Aubrey frown slightly, it wasn't the worst part of the saloon. No, the worst part was the scantily-clad women hovering to her right. Possibly, they could have passed some sort of test with their bodies alone, but they weren't beautiful—with their broad foreheads and large noses, and uneven lips and crooked teeth.

Aubrey shivered as they (there were only two) ogled Sam and Dean with half-lidded eyes. There also came a time where one of them switched her gaze to Aubrey, who shuddered in disgust and made a hasty retreat to the bar. "This is not awesome," she heard Dean say behind her back, and she silently agreed. Soon enough, they joined her to sit by the bar, though Aubrey didn't trust the stool that creaked beneath her weight; she wasn't _that_ heavy.

"Hi," Sam greeted curtly.

"What'll you have?" the white-haired bartender said in reply, making Aubrey purse her lips slightly.

Dean shrugged. "Oh, okay, great… I'll have your top shelf whisky." He even leaned against the counter, throwing a look to the bartender that might have suggested they were friends… in other circumstances.

The bartender returned Dean's look with cold eyes. He said, "Only have the one shelf." Aubrey looked at Dean with an entertained expression and watched him splutter slightly before regaining his composure.

"That'll do just fine," he said. "He'll have a sarsaparilla, and Margaret—?"

"I'm good," Aubrey answered a little bit late; she'd gotten so used to turning to her other alias _Jenna_. Once the bartender had turned around, she met Dean's eyes and mouthed the words _I'd rather not_ with a distasteful expression. _Suit yourself,_ he mouthed back with the same offensive fervour, just as the bartender whirled around again to pour some golden liquid into a glass he had placed on the countertop.

"You're Elkins?" Aubrey asked him in an attempt to actually get somewhere.

"One and only," he said.

"You know a man named Samuel Colt?"

The bartender met her gaze for a fraction of a second before nodding briskly. "He passed through here about four years ago." He continued his work behind the counter and Aubrey shared a pleased look with the brothers beside her.

"He still around?" Dean asked.

"Rumor is he's building a railroad stop 20 miles out of town, just by the postal road." The bartender's face contorted in a half-scowl. "Middle of nowhere, really." Aubrey flinched when Sam suddenly grabbed her knee.

She hit him lightly on the shoulder and half-heartedly glared at him, exclaiming, "What?"

"The Devil's Gate," he muttered back, looking at Dean as well now.

His brother shrugged. "Location fits."

"Yeah, no shit, Sherlock," Aubrey retorted silently. "We already knew that." The brothers deflated slightly, and she was only starting to regret her poor choice of words when there came a haughty, high-pitched voice from behind them:

"Howdy, boys."

"Darla's my best girl," the bartender said, eyeing Sam with a suggestive look.

Aubrey groaned inwardly; she didn't even need to turn around. Darla sauntered over to where she and the Winchesters sat before Aubrey could say _whore_. 'Darla' was even worse than the other women standing behind her. With her plump body and the burn scar on the side of her mouth, Aubrey supposed she could admire the woman's confidence and enthusiasm but she couldn't understand how anyone would want to get down with her. Aubrey shuddered at how similar their hair were, the only difference being that Darla's was longer and Aubrey was _not_ a prostitute.

Darla walked right up to Dean and started running her hands over his chest. "Try me," she said, her voice almost a whisper as Aubrey soundlessly gagged into her hand; she noticed Sam doing the same. "You want a kiss?" stated Darla, leaning closer into Dean's face. They were almost the same height so it was quite difficult for the Winchester to evade Darla's lips.

"S-so much more germier than I pictured," Dean muttered to Sam, tilting his head to the side as far as it would go. Sam chuckled, and lucky for the both of them, Darla stopped in her advances. Surprisingly, she chuckled at Dean's words, revealing two rows of yellow teeth. Aubrey looked over Dean's shoulder and found Sam had received his ordered drink, and was bringing it up to his lips to taste when a new voice cut into the conversation.

"Darla!"

Aubrey saw the woman's expression turn from puffed-up to disappointed in a second. "Judge…!" Darla turned around and Aubrey glanced past her bare shoulder to see Mortimer standing by the doorway of the saloon. His hands hung limp by his sides but his eyes were all on the prostitute standing in front of Dean.

"Nice to see you," said Darla, the contempt barely audible in her voice.

Mortimer's eyes now held a naughty glint to them, and Aubrey scoffed and looked away just as he said, "I thought we had a date."

Darla sighed, but otherwise walked away from Dean, allowing him to straighten up from his previous position slumped against the counter. As she and Mortimer climbed up the staircase to the rooms upstairs, Darla spared a glance at Dean, and winked at him, licking her lips and making sure that he saw that, too. Dean visibly shuddered as the footsteps faded into the background.

"That was a close one," he said.

"I guess it's good to be judge." Sam passed him his drink.

Dean brought the glass to his lips and drank, only to spit the liquor back out in disgust, but Sam actually enjoyed his and Aubrey chuckled to herself.

* * *

It was minutes later that she started doubting her plan on staying sober. She watched Sam order one glass of sarsaparilla after another, hesitant on ordering one for herself. In fact, she was just about to give in to her hunter's Primal Urge when a shrill cry pierced through the silence of the saloon—Aubrey had abandoned her stool and was running up the stairs sooner than anyone else. She paid no attention to the ruckus going on behind her as Sam and Dean trailed her up the stairs.

She burst through the first open door she found, and was barely able to catch the long black coat of a man jumping out the balcony. Darla pinned herself against the wall there, staring wide-eyed at a spot to Aubrey's right side. Aubrey paid that no attention (yet) and rushed to the balcony. A man was running down the dirt path, and as he was about to disappear behind a large building, where Aubrey wouldn't have been able to see him, he glanced over his shoulder, and Aubrey saw the face of Elias Finch.

It was only for a fraction of a second, and he ran to the back of the building soon enough. Aubrey deflated slightly, but regained her composure again when she heard a third pair of footsteps. Elkins had appeared in the room and was staring down at the human-shaped mound of ash on the mattress behind Aubrey.

"Call the sheriff," Dean told him, sharing a knowing look with Aubrey. Elkins bobbed his head vigorously before walking back out the door. Dean looked to Darla. "You should go back downstairs… get some fresh air." For a moment, the girl looked like she was about to argue, but unsurprisingly she nodded her agreement and followed after Elkins.

Sam didn't hesitate to approach the bed, touching the ashes and rubbing it between his fingers. "So I'll just go ahead and guess: our Phoenix was here."

"It was Finch," Aubrey quickly said. "I saw him running out… He got back from Purgatory quicker than I did, didn't he?"

Dean nodded. "You were out for at least five hours. Finch was gone for, what, two?"

"I guess it must get easier the more times you go there…" Aubrey frowned, deep in thought. "Alright, we know who it is, and we know who it's after."

"Yeah," Sam replied. "He said he'd be back for Mortimer"—he nodded to the mound of ash—"the sheriff, and that other guy. I didn't catch his name."

"Neither did I. Look, this can't wait." She raised a finger, pointing from one brother to another. "One of you boys are gonna have to go get the gun from Colt, get back here by morning, and we got ourselves a bottle of Phoenix Ash with Eve's name on it before noon tomorrow. We won't have to worry about any close calls."

Sam pursed his lips. "Isn't Colt gonna come here? I mean, why do we have to look for him?"

"The people here barely know who he _is_," said Aubrey. "Maybe you or Dean just has to go find him and _make_ history." She patted Sam's chest. "Sound good?"

He opened his mouth to reply, but closed it again once they heard footsteps from outside. The sheriff strolled into the room moments later, his hand already on the holster of his gun. As soon as he saw the pile of ash behind Sam, something flashed across his face, too quick for Aubrey to recognize. He dropped his hand.

"You okay, sheriff?" Aubrey inquired, raising an eyebrow.

To her surprise, he wouldn't meet her eyes. "'Course I'm okay," he said, and his voice was raspier than before. "What happened?"

"Well, from what Darla told us," Dean cut in, though Aubrey knew for a fact that Darla hadn't told them jack squat yet, "Elias Finch walked in here, did _that_, and walked back out… She says it was a ghost—"

"It wasn't a ghost, unless ghosts leave footprints," the sheriff said, gesturing to the ashy track leading from the mattress to the balcony. "The rope didn't kill him; I've seen it before."

"You got any idea where he might be?" Sam asked, while Aubrey wandered over to the balcony once more, looking over it with a hawk eye, somewhat hoping that Finch would just reveal himself.

The sheriff sighed. "Could be a thousand places."

"You got any way to flush him out?"

"'Course," he answered instantly. "We're gonna form a posse. Then we're gonna string Finch up right, put a bullet in his head for good measure."

"That actually sounds like a good plan," Dean said, and by that time Aubrey had turned back around and was staring at the two men with narrowed eyes. _A posse?_ she thought, irritated. _A friggin posse?_

"You three should come along," said the sheriff. "We meet downstairs at dawn."

Dean was barely keeping the excitement from spreading across his face. "Yeah, we'll be there," he said, and Aubrey rolled her eyes.

She smirked lightly when the sheriff told him, "Just get yourself some real gear first, alright?" _You have no idea what kind of gear we have in the bag,_ she mused, whistling quietly as he walked out.

Once his footsteps faded down the staircase, she whirled on Sam and Dean. "Who's it gonna be?" she said sternly.

"Why don't you go?" Dean asked, sounding quite defensive; no doubt because he wanted to join the posse.

"I'm gonna try to keep the sheriff and that other guy from getting killed," Aubrey answered instantly. "Finch saw me at his hanging and he seemed to recognize me. A hundred bucks says he's just as curious about finding out more about his own kind as I am. If I stick close to the sheriff, Finch might halt on killing him. At least until one of you gets back.

Dean lowered his eyes, grumbling, "I hate it when you get all smart on me…"

"_Who's it gonna be_—"

"Alright, alright!" Sam interjected. "I'll go."

"Good." Aubrey started pushing him out the door and down the stairs. "No time to waste, _you_ gotta get going—"

"Wait, wait, wait." Sam looked over his shoulder at her, who still hadn't stopped pushing him. They were back in the receiving room of the saloon now; the prostitutes were still there, and so was Elkins, though none of them paid the three hunters any heed… except, perhaps, for the two scantily-clad women. They ogled Dean as if he was a super model. "Aubrey, the Colt's 20 miles outside of town," Sam continued hastily. "How am I supposed to get there and back before dawn?"

Aubrey continued pushing him outside, confident that her plan had no holes in it; sure enough, near the entrance of the town were three horses tied to a single fence. They grazed on the thin sheet of grass there, and Aubrey pointed at them. Sam's eyes widened slightly.

"Good thing you're from Texas," she said, untying a black horse from the fence. "You won't have to worry about traffic, anyway." Uncertainly, Sam started petting the horse's mane; it might have been a mare, but Aubrey wasn't too keen on checking.

Then there came a voice from behind them, and she turned around to find a boy, looking barely in his twenties. "Um, miss?" he said, approaching them warily. "Are you gonna rent one of 'em horses?"

Aubrey nodded. "Right, payment." She held her hand out to Dean, who fished out a small pouch of gold coins from his pocket. Aubrey took it from him and handed it to the boy. He looked inside it and might have gasped slightly. "Keep the change," she quickly added, offering a smile. The boy gazed at her with wide, innocent eyes before nodding and running back inside.

"Sweet kid," Aubrey commented silently, before facing Sam again, who had mounted the horse. He looked quite certain about himself, even risking a few shakes of the reins; Dean snippily warned him and Aubrey smiled.

Sam sighed. "Alright, get the Colt back before 11 am, right?"

"We got a lucky break, Sam," Aubrey told him. "Don't be late."

"Got it."

She lightly slapped the horse's backside, and it whinnied softly before starting its trot out the town. It was then that Aubrey got a better view of Sam, and it turned out that he was very inexperienced with riding. He looked like he was about to fall off any second, but he threw a thumbs-up over his shoulder and called, "I'm okay!"

"That poor horse," Dean said silently.

Aubrey chuckled and patted his shoulder reassuringly. "They'll be fine. Come on; let's see what we can do to keep Finch off our asses."

"Are we still joining that posse?"

As much as she wanted to say no, joining wasn't really going to jeopardize their mission; if anything, it might help Aubrey keep a closer eye on the sheriff and the other, still-unnamed person. She sighed:

"You bet."

* * *

It was late on in the evening, and neither of them had caught any sight of Elias Finch anywhere… Or the sheriff, or that other guy Dean was supposed to be guarding. Aubrey was about to call it a day when she heard a horse whinny in the distance. She was fairly sure that it couldn't have been Sam, and it was too dark out for anyone to have a good reason to go riding. One shared look with Dean was all it took for them to start briskly walking towards the source of the noise.

The whinnies continued as they got closer, and Aubrey had just gotten close enough to get a glimpse of the sheriff standing by a pitch-black horse when she noticed the dark figure looming behind them.

She started running. "Sheriff! Get outta there!"

The sheriff turned around, a crease between his eyebrows and his mouth open to ask a question. Finch walked out of the darkness and approached him with a sinister look on his face. Aubrey sped up, heading for the sheriff originally but Dean reached him first, pushing him to the ground. Aubrey risked a glance to make sure they were alright before holding her hands up towards Finch.

"Easy there," she said in a soft voice.

A low snarl escaped his lips. "I'm not a goddamn horse."

She ignored him. "You don't have to kill this guy, alright? Whatever he did, it's not worth it."

"Yes, it is," he sharply retorted.

"It's not!" said Aubrey. "Believe me, I know." Finch's hard expression faltered slightly, and she dropped her hands. "Look, you and I are more alike than you know. We'll talk, okay? As soon as this guy _gets out of here_." Behind her back, she wildly motioned for Dean to lead the sheriff out of harm's way, but she didn't spare a look over her shoulder. Finch was looking more hesitant by the second.

There was a subtle scuffling behind her: "Eastwood, what the hell is going on?" the sheriff was saying. "He should be dead!"

"The rope didn't kill him! You said so yourself! Now let's _go_—NO!"

A loud gunshot echoed throughout the clearing. Aubrey reflexively jumped to the side, shielding her head with her arms. Another shot was fired but nothing happened to her, and she peeked through her arms and found blood leaking from two holes on Finch's shirt. The wounds didn't seem to affect him much, though, and his eyes blazed with anger.

Aubrey pulled herself to her feet. "Dean—_Clint_, get the sheriff out!"

Thankfully, no argument came. Finch started advancing on her, the fury obvious on his face, but for some reason, Aubrey didn't want to hurt him. She started backing up, her eyes glued to him as she readied herself for any kind of attack. He, apparently, was reluctant in hurting her as well. He threw no punches and kept his gun holstered, but he didn't stop in his advance.

"We aren't monsters, Elias," Aubrey prodded gently. "We came from heaven. God made us for a reason. You have to remember that—"

"You think I care about God and heaven?" Finch shouted. "They killed my wife!"

_So that's why._ "We burn at Purgatory to get our souls cleansed whenever we die. And trust me when I say: I don't want to kill you."

"Then don't. Step aside!"

"I can't let you kill anyone, Finch!" Aubrey had reached the end of the clearing and found herself trapped between him and a brick wall.

He stopped, only a few feet away from her, now. "What'll you do if I do kill them? I could do it when you're asleep, or when he's asleep, or once you're gone. From what I gathered, you aren't gonna be in town for long. What'll you do?"

"I'll have to kill you," said Aubrey without missing a beat. "But like I said, I don't want to."

"But you're gonna have to, sister," he said, surprising her by what he just called her. "Because there's nothing else you can do to stop me."

He started barreling towards her, his face pulled into a deep scowl. Aubrey broke into a run, down the dirt paths and past several buildings; they flew past her like she was on a train, but there weren't many of those inside a small town.

The time finally came when she found herself at a dead end. Finch appeared from around the corner, looking pleased at the sight: she was a rat caught in a trap.

"Nowhere to run," he said in a low growl.

_Dammit,_ Aubrey thought, her eyes flying left and right, looking for a way out. There were windows, but they were locked shut. No doors she could break into or fences she could climb over, just a rock-hard wooden wall, cold against her back. She regarded Finch warily. She might stand a chance against him, but if he had any knives in his boot, she was done. His frame was too wide for her to possibly slip past; yes, her only chance was to beat him in a fistfight.

_Might as well just go for it._ In a split second decision, Aubrey rushed towards Finch with her hands clenched into fists. As she'd hoped for, it caught him by surprise and she was able to land a punch on his temple. He staggered backwards, clutching his face. Aubrey advanced again and kneed him in the gut, twice, before kicking his jaw. He fell to his knees but stood up again sooner than Aubrey had expected.

Finally, it was his turn to land a hit; Aubrey had almost forgotten how hard Raphael had beaten her before, but she was fairly sure that Finch was just as strong. He punched her stomach, twice, then her face, and those three hits alone left her a broken daze on the ground.

Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth and from her nostrils. She gazed up at him through swollen, half-lidded eyes, and saw the regret clear on his face. "Brother…" she murmured, and it got her the response she needed. His hands unclenched and his features smoothened; his stance relaxed. From the corner of her eye, Aubrey vaguely noticed some red bricks stacked in a pile by her head. Her fingers closed around one and she forced herself to her feet. The momentum threw her forward and she used it to her advantage, hitting the brick against the side of Finch's head.

He fell to the ground and Aubrey took off running, hastily turning a corner to lose him quickly. But she didn't stop until she was sure that he wasn't following. Her body was heavy, and her head pounded like it was being beaten with a hammer, but she was determined to find a safe place to hide until sunrise, and before he found her again.

* * *

**Aubrey changed history by saving the sheriff... I just realized HAHAH**

**make sure to leave a review!**


	43. Chapter 43

As it turned out, Finch's three hits had resulted in Aubrey's two broken ribs, an almost-concussion, and a few bleeding organs.

She was getting much better with figuring out what kind of injuries she had obtained just by the amount of pain. Any sort of broken bone, it would be a 3/5, and it always felt like they were rubbing against one another. Slices, gunshot wounds, or damage to any of her organs, like an intestine, would be a 4/5, with the platelets rushing to close the wound and her cells struggling to replicate the destroyed ones; she felt every second of it. All of the above, at once, was a gruelling 6/5, but that rarely ever happened again since the car crash. Most of the time, the open wounds would heal up first, and the Phoenix healing rarely ever lagged.

Bruises were a 1/5, because the only thing Aubrey could feel was a wonderful cooling sensation, like the ointment her father used to give her for mosquito bites. She stared at the distance and focused on the numbing sensation as Dean walked past her and to the two jail cells, where the sheriff and the apparent-deputy were locked in.

After escaping Finch, Aubrey had found refuge in the sheriff's department, where Dean was already waiting for her. He had come up with the idea to lock the sheriff and his deputy in the cells so that Finch wouldn't be able to get to the without the keys, and neither of the two men would be able to run away. By that time, the healing had already started, and she was in such pain that it became impossible for her to speak coherently.

It was early on in the morning, now, perhaps another two hours before the sun came up, and the worst part of it was over. Aubrey sat on the sheriff's desk with her head in her hands, groaning inwardly as a particularly sharp stab of pain erupted from her stomach: it was probably her organs stitching themselves back together.

Dean paced in front of the jail cells, his icy glare switching from the sheriff to the deputy. "Finch told Margaret here that you killed his wife. Is that true?"

The sheriff sighed. "It wasn't all of us—"

"It doesn't matter! What kind of sheriff are you?" It wasn't the first time that morning that Dean raised his voice; Aubrey just wished that he'd do it less often. "So which one of you was it?"

"It was him," said the sheriff, nodding to his deputy. "I just heard the gunshots and found the body."

Aubrey raised her head and looked at him through narrowed eyes. "_Gunshots_? As in plural?" Slowly, he nodded his head, and she switched her gaze to the deputy. "Who else did you shoot?"

He seemed nervous under her gaze, and so she didn't look away. "I didn't shoot nobody else—"

"Bullshit." Dean snarled. "_Who else did you shoot_?"

"No one else! I swear—!"

"Stop lying," Aubrey said through gritted teeth, feeling rather impatient with his lying and the throbbing in her head. "Tell us the fucking truth, or I swear to God, you'll be dead before Elias gets to you." The deputy's lip might have curled up in a smirk, and Aubrey's eyes flashed. "Are you testing me?" She held her hand out to Dean and, without a single word, he handed his gun to her. She pointed it to the deputy menacingly; when he refused to say more, she turned off the safety and tightened her hold on the grip, shaking it slightly.

He jumped to his feet, hands held up. "Alright, alright! I shot the woman and then Finch!" he confessed. "But nobody else, I swear!"

"Wuss," Aubrey muttered. She put the safety back on the gun, placing it on the table in front of her before dropping her head back into her hands.

An inaudible groan escaped her as Dean said, "So we have now clarified that it was you people who killed Finch's wife—"

"I didn't kill her!" the sheriff cut in.

"You framed Finch," snapped Aubrey. "It's the same principle."

"Margaret, come on." He approached the bars of his cage and leaned his head against there. "You can't keep me in here forever."

"We're not," she replied slowly. Her stomach clenched and she dropped her forehead onto her arms, waving a limp arm at Dean in a gesture for him to continue. She muttered against the skin on her forearm: "And my name's not Margaret…"

"We have to figure out what we're gonna do with Finch," Dean was saying. "He has it out for the both of you, and yeah, I think you two are a bunch of dicks"—a loud exclamation came from the deputy—"but that doesn't mean that you should die. So, here's the plan: we wait for Walker to come back with the stuff we need to… _take care_ of Finch." He gave Aubrey a sideways glance, who grimaced. "He's supposed to be back before high noon tomorrow. 'Til then, you two are gonna stay here. Margaret and I are gonna take turns switching watch to make sure Finch doesn't walk in here and shoot you two point-blank… Hey, pass me the keys, will you?" He held his hand out to Aubrey.

By then, the healing process had more or less finished, but the throbbing in her head still remained and Aubrey was starting to think that Finch's punch to her face had jarred her brain somehow. Her eyes half-lidded, she saw the ring of keys Dean was referring to and reached for it; as soon as her finger touched it, the metal seared her skin and she drew her hand back with a quiet yelp. Dean rushed to where she was and grabbed the keys himself, staring at Aubrey in both confusion and alarm.

"Iron," she hissed, looking at the keys with distaste before nodding to the jail bars. "I'm guessing those are made of iron too, yeah?"He nodded in grim agreement.

The deputy approached his bars and slowly brought his hand up to grip them, as if it was going to burn _him_. "What's wrong with iron?" he asked, drawing his hand back and staring at it in wonder because nothing happened. "You allergic or somethin'?"

"Or something," Aubrey murmured in reply, sticking her burned finger into her mouth. It wasn't healing, and she vaguely remembered something Crowley had mentioned when she was still in his captivity: _"Now you know that something in this universe can actually burn you… _permanently_._" That was Hellfire._"Apart from iron, of course."_Trying to hide the grimace that was apparent on her face, Aubrey stuck her hands into her pockets and refused the urge to rub them against the rough fabric. Doing so would only worsen the blister, and she wanted it to heal up quick. She was lucky the sheriff and his deputy weren't exactly valedictorian material.

She'd quite gotten used to _not_ having to worry about first aid and all of that, and she was starting to think that perhaps discontinuing the practice wasn't such a good idea.

"Taking turns" hadn't exactly been the right term for what Aubrey and Dean did.

For the remainder of the morning, until sun-up, Aubrey napped with her head on her arms, while Dean stayed awake and watched the sheriff. Her dreams were incomprehensible and unclear, though there were a few images that stayed in mind when she finally woke—specifically, images of a man hanging from a burning tree. She wasn't stupid; she knew what it meant, and the gist of it haunted her all throughout the silent hours of her watch.

Dean snored from where he slept on the sheriff's table, his mouth half-open. The keys sat near his head, and Aubrey was ready to wake him as soon as anything unplanned happened… though she wasn't planning on touching the keys or the cage bars any time soon. She looked down at her hand, where the blister on her finger was yet to heal. Hadn't she been handling anything else iron before now? She was fairly sure that she had, but if that was the case, why hadn't she gotten herself burned? Were her Phoenix weaknesses only showing themselves now? No, when Crowley had tortured her, the Hellfire and iron brand had worked _wonders_.

Perhaps before she had just been more careful, for through her heavy-lidded gaze, she barely noticed when the sheriff finally stopped leaning against the bars of his cell. He tiredly walked to the wall, where he slid down to sit on the dusty floor.

"Do you have anything I can entertain myself with?" he asked, making Aubrey roll her eyes.

"Did you expect me to bring a horse in here so you can pet it when you're bored?" came her witty retort. The sheriff fell into a mortified silence, and she continued: "Anyway, Walker won't be long now. I'm guessing it's about 10 o'clock, right?"

He slowly nodded. "You guessed correctly, ma'am."

"Oh, Jesus," she exclaimed silently. "Don't call me that, for the love of God."

"Of course…" He trailed off, probably not knowing what else to call her. She decided not to amuse him, and slowly but surely, silence crept into the building to reign once more.

Aubrey's thoughts travelled to Aiden and Greg and Lorraine, who were sure to have gotten back from the mall already. Had Bobby made up a believable excuse? Had Aiden _believed_ him? Then at the thought of Bobby, Aubrey remembered who had sent her and the boys back in time in the first place. Had Castiel still been there when the Bishops arrived, or had he retreated back to heaven with Rachel? A surge of bitterness flared up in Aubrey, and she inwardly reprimanded herself.

There came a small inkling of what had been happening to her for the past few months: the gratefulness, the emotional turmoil, the bitterness, the lasting hatred for the angel. There was only one reason for all these things, and it was foolish, something Aubrey had sworn never to distract herself with. Yet there she was, looking down at her clenched hands in frustration, and her thoughts stuck on the one person who could never return such strong feelings for her.

_Angels aren't well-known for their sentiments,_ Aubrey silently mused, glaring down at her blistered finger. She squeezed it between her two other digits, and for a moment it eased the itchy feeling. But it returned soon enough, leaving her just as impatient and exasperated as before.

Her knee started rocking up and down, shaking the table slightly, in her edginess. Sam was late. It was getting ever nearer to high noon, only less than thirty minutes to go. And Sam was _late_. Aubrey might have understood it during the 2000's, because traffic was always a bitch, but Sam had taken a full-grown horse to a road where traffic didn't even exist yet. Surely Samuel Colt hadn't been the reason for Sam's delay? After all, he was a hunter, and he should have been more than willing to hand the Colt over. Assuming, of course, that Sam had explained their predicament and that they would return it soon after.

Had he gotten lost?

Suddenly, there were three hard knocks on the door. Aubrey's musings were cut short, and Dean's head snapped up, awakened, just as the door flew from its hinges and landed on the floor with a loud crash. Elias Finch stepped through the doorway and Dean was on his feet immediately. He stepped up to intercept Finch, gripping the set of keys tightly in his hand. Aubrey walked to the front of the jail cells, where the sheriff and deputy had inched closer and closer to the wall in their alarm and fear.

"Finally decided to show, huh?" said Dean; the keys jingled in his clenched hand.

Finch smiled menacingly. "You've made my life all the more easier," he told Dean. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me just yet," said Dean. "'Cuz now I'm gonna kill you."

"Really?" Finch said, amused. "With what? You don't have a gun. Are you gonna stab me with those keys?"

"I could." Then Dean tossed the ring of keys to Finch, who caught it easily. Steam curled from the hand he had caught it with, and he hissed in surprise, dropping the keys immediately. Aubrey almost made a wild dive for it, so she could free the sheriff and the deputy and they would have a chance of escaping, but then she remembered it was made of iron. Elias would get to her in her state of pain before she could even insert it into the keyhole.

Finch cursed silently… or, Aubrey was fairly sure that he had cursed. Perhaps it was just a milder version of the kind of words Aubrey knew. Either way, it wouldn't have been very flattering to hear. Finch regained his composure, though his face was still full of malice. His hand travelled to the inside of his jacket and in a blink, he had brought out a gun. He turned the safety off and then, without hesitation, pulled the trigger. Dean dove to the side and the bullet must have missed him by inches. Aubrey flinched at the sudden noise and stepped even closer to the cells, where the sheriff and deputy had started yelling.

Aubrey hit the bars with her outstretched palm, and the ruckus it made was louder than either of their hollers. It shut them up, and Aubrey whirled around to find only Finch and her in the room, with Dean nowhere to be found; though seconds before, she might have heard him yelling for Sam.

However, Finch had switched the aim of his gun for Aubrey, which would otherwise have been fine because she'd heal anyway if he ever shot her. But there was something about the way he held the gun a little too far away from himself that unnerved her. She didn't want to take any chances. Holding her hands up in an innocent gesture, she started reasoning with him for the second time in two days:

"Brother, please. We can still end this. You can still walk away—"

"I tried to tell you," he said. "I never wanted to kill you, but you've given me no choice."

"They killed your wife, and framed you and got you hanged," said Aubrey. "I understand why you're angry. When I was young, an archangel killed my mother just because she was _annoying_ him. A few years later, my dad got killed by a Crocotta—"

"What's that?" Finch asked, sounding genuinely curious for a moment.

She shook her head. "Doesn't matter. My point is: I've tried to get revenge too. And while it may seem like a good idea in the beginning, things will turn sour pretty fast. Now, you may not know this, but I'm from the future." She ignored the bewildered look on his face and prayed that the people behind her just assumed she was joking. "And in the future, there aren't many of us left; Phoenixes…" She stopped when she noticed the suspicious look creeping into his features.

"Why are you telling me this?" he asked, loosening his grip on the gun.

"I told you before: I don't want to kill you."

"But you will anyway." He smirked, and Aubrey felt a shiver run down her spine. "I heard you yesterday, talking with those men you're with; you need to kill me to get my ashes."

Aubrey frowned. "How…?"

Finch chuckled humourlessly. "You haven't even begun to unlock your Powers yet. Super-healing, _warm_ touch? Do you think I turned Mortimer to ash by sitting there for two hours touching every inch of him? I _pity_ you." The final statement made Aubrey's world turn grey. The part of her that had hoped he would die with a good conscience slowly started to fade, and in her misery, she didn't notice his finger tighten around the trigger before it was too late.

The sound of a gunshot echoed all around the room; white-hot pain shot up from her shoulder, travelling all the way down her arm and up her neck. Aubrey's vision went black, but she was still awake—barely. There was a ringing in her ears, most likely from the shock. She made an effort to raise her head but only a quiet whimper escaped her mouth as the agony intensified. Through the buzzing in her ears, she might have heard more footsteps, more yells, and another gunshot. But she barely paid them any attention, deeply hoping that her body wouldn't start healing around the bullet.

It would be absolute torture.

Several seconds passed and the pain remained the same, and that was clarification enough for her that the bullet Finch had used was, in fact, iron. Her healing wouldn't work on iron, something she'd discovered not twelve hours ago.

Through very heavy-lidded eyes, Aubrey gazed up and found herself looking at the ceiling. Someone was shouting again, and then hands were gently roaming her arms and shoulder, perhaps looking for the source of so much blood. (She only guessed that there was a considerable amount, because of the sticky feeling on her upper torso.) She was able to discern Dean's voice; he was saying something, but she was yet to understand anything that was happening.

There was a tight knot in her stomach, something that she could still impossibly feel through the agony from the bullet. _I don't want to die,_ she thought, desperation tugging at the back of her head, threatening to break out and spread. If she died from the blood loss, and considering the cause of death was something _iron_… would she come back?

"Dean…" she was able to say. "Finch's… ashes…"

There was a brief moment of complete silence before the hands disappeared, and there was a heavy scuffling. A second was yet to pass before there was a familiar tugging in her stomach, and the floor was no longer the hard, cold one of the 1800's, but was warm and matted, soft. Aubrey opened her eyes into narrow slits and recognized the ceiling of Bobby's living room. She closed them again, finding herself being lulled into a fitful sleep by a choir of what sounded like angels…

Someone slapped her cheek and her eyes flew open. It was so hard that her head tilted to the side, and pain once again shot up her neck.

"_Fuck_, Bobby," she hissed through gritted teeth, feeling the tears welling in her eyes.

"We can't have you dyin' on us, idjit," he said in reply, and even then Aubrey could hear the worry laced in his voice... accompanied by a strong hint of weariness. "Don't worry, Cas is here. He'll patch you up."

"No." Aubrey groaned, weakly using her uninjured arm to push the hand that had appeared from over her head. "Get the damn bullet out first."

"I can do that as well," came the steady reply of the angel. "With presumably less trouble than anything else you wish to do with it." His voice came from past her head for sure, but she had no strength to tilt her head even the slightest bit.

"Do it," she said; the angelic music had returned, but she already knew that she was the only one who could hear. She struggled to keep her eyes open, but not for much longer. Castiel placed his hand on her shoulder. There was a brief flash of pain, but it was gone sooner than it came. Aubrey released a sigh of relief, and was finally able to peer up at the angel. She offered him a smile. "Thank you."

He returned it with what Aubrey knew was his best impression of a smile, but she was satisfied anyway. Her mind was still foggy, the traces of agony still there, but she was able to pull herself up into a sitting position. She glanced around her and evaluated the room: Bobby, Dean, and Castiel were all kneeling around her, their faces almost the only things she could see. Past the doorway to the hallway, she could hear the distant voices of Sam and another person she didn't recognize. There were only two people who were missing, so Aubrey said, "Where are Greg and Aiden?"

Bobby peered at her with relieved eyes. "Upstairs, playing with the new toys I bought the kid." At Aubrey's disappointed expression, he added, "You should be thankful, Aub. I told Aiden you and the boys had gone out to visit a cousin in Minnesota. How do you think the kid would've reacted if he saw you bleedin' on my carpet?"

At those words, Aubrey looked over and down her shoulder, finding a hand-sized puddle of blood on the carpet. She looked at Bobby sheepishly, who sighed. "I'll clean it up. Don't worry."

"Where's Sam?" she asked, just as said hunter appeared in the doorway with a package in his hands.

* * *

Aubrey watched Bobby roughly scrubbing the carpet, and she wanted to help, but apparently, even with a gunshot wound healed, it could still hurt you. That was what he had claimed, anyway.

"Who the hell's gonna watch Aiden while you're out hunting for the bitch?" he said, not looking at Aubrey. She didn't reply because the answer was obvious, and he already knew that as well. "Me, of course. But Aub, this is Eve. She's sure to have it out for you considering your ashes can sort of… kill her."

"Which is why I need to come!" said Aubrey. "My touch might have some sort of effect on her or something."

Bobby grumbled, "Don't get excited."

"I'm not," said Aubrey. "I'm just saying, with me coming on this hunt, there's a bigger chance of this not getting us all killed." He didn't say anything, and she leaned closer to him from her chair so that he was forced to look up. She said, "I'm going, Bobby."

A moment passed and he sighed. "I know… Are you sure you ain't a Winchester?"

Her lip curled up slightly. "I'm about as close as I can get."

* * *

**they face off with Eve in the next chapter - which comes out two weeks from now! :D**

**P.S. fair warning, guys: we're reaching the end of this story. and i'll say it now, i'm not planning on making the third part of OAaM COMPLETE... like, it'll probably be a series of oneshots, but it'll still tell of Aubrey's adventures with the boys and Cas, just not so detailed. I'm planning on making it more... personal, and original, and less dependent to the happenings in the series.**

**so yeah, just thought i'd put that out there.**

**(approximately four more chapters before this story is finished.)**


	44. Chapter 44

**ACTION CHAPTER. :DD also, i apologize in advance if it all seems a bit rushed. because i'm gonna be honest, i actually DID rush the finishing of these last few chapters. i wanted to finish it so that i could move on to other projects.**

**Anyway, after this one, there are three more chapters, and then an epilogue of sorts, before Spitting Fire is over!**

**A sequel will come up, but it'll only be a series of oneshots. And I don't plan on there actually being a concrete plot in it other than Aubrey being a Phoenix and how hard it is keeping up with the Winchesters.**

**... Hey. That should be the alternate name of Supernatural. "Keeping Up With The Winchesters". =)))**

**I DON'T OWN ANYTHING EXCEPT FOR MY OC'S AND A QUARTER OF A QUARTER OF THE PLOT.**

* * *

The following day was dedicated to making Phoenix Ash bullets and searching the net on where Eve could be holed up. Sam and Dean were hard at work downstairs with the Ash, and Aubrey was lending Bobby an extra-typing hand. With two hunters scanning the net and an almost-obvious target, it should have been fairly easy to locate Eve; or so they thought.

They'd been at it since daybreak, and Aubrey took a second to glance down at her watch and found that it was only a few more minutes until 3 o'clock. She sighed and pushed the lid of her laptop closed, feeling considerably defeated. An hour before, Dean had expressed his concerns regarding the Phoenix Ash: "This stuff is supposed to burn the bejeesus out of Eve," he had said. "It doesn't even give me sunburn." Aubrey held onto the hope that perhaps it was going to be like iron for Phoenixes—did something to the creature, but not the human user.

At the thought of Phoenix Ash, her mind once again wandered back to Elias Finch; AKA the main substance of the ash. He had shot her, with an iron bullet, no less. He knew it would hurt her, yet she was fairly sure that he was purposely aiming for her shoulder. And it nicked her bone but didn't cause any damage; it wouldn't have killed her. Despite the disarming words he had said to her before he shot her—_"I pity you."_—he still aimed for not-at-all fatal wound. The possible fact made the guilt bubble up from Aubrey's insides, threatening to swallow her whole.

For the past few hours, she was single-minded in keeping her deep sense of blame to herself, but a part of her was starting to see the others starting to notice; more specifically, Bobby. He had the instincts of a damn hawk, could figure anything out when he wanted to. He was trying to figure Aubrey out, now: why she was so quiet. And Aubrey hadn't meant to be quiet, but she was afraid that if she spoke, the subject of Finch might come up again and she didn't want to talk about how she'd aided in the mission of killing one of her own kind.

She decided to pass it off as being hardwired to find Eve, but she wasn't completely positive yet if Bobby had fallen for it.

Before she could spare another glance at the older hunter through her eyelashes, there was a soft knock. Aubrey's head snapped to the side and she found Greg standing by the doorway, his knuckle still pressed on the wood there.

"Hey," said Aubrey in a quiet voice, surprised that he was there in the first place. She took a fleeting glance past his shoulder and saw Aiden in the living room, playing with the new toys Bobby had bought him. Lorraine sat on the sofa by him, looking considerably nonviolent. She returned her gaze to Greg and raised an eyebrow. "What's up?"

He shifted on his feet. "Aubrey, can I talk to you for a minute?"

"Of course." She looked over to Bobby questioningly, but he only shrugged. Wary and curious at the same time, Aubrey followed Greg into the kitchen. She made an effort to _not_ be seen by Aiden, for as much as she wanted to dedicate more of her time with him, things were far too hectic for her to be playing Race Cars with him.

Greg hastily pulled up a chair for Aubrey before taking a seat on his own. Aubrey eyed him for a moment before sitting down.

"Okay…" Greg took a deep breath. "So… what exactly happened yesterday?"

Aubrey puffed her cheeks out slightly. "Bobby must have already told you that we had to … time travel back to the 1800's to get a particular ingredient, right?" He nodded. "Alright, so before we got back—_here_, I mean… I sort of got shot." Greg started in his seat immediately after the words left her mouth but she quickly patted him back down. "But it's not big deal! Cas patched me up and I'm good as new."

"Cas…" Greg frowned. "The angel, right?"

"Yeah."

"We met him the other day," he continued. "He kind of… blessed Lorraine and me. It hurt though."

Aubrey nodded. "He placed Enochian sigils on your ribs. They'll keep demons and angels from tracking you down." A thought occurred to her, and a crease developed between her eyebrows. "He didn't put one on Aiden?"

"Yeah, he mentioned something about him not needing one," said Greg, "Being a Phoenix and all. He said something about Phoenixes having natural cloaking abilities against demons ad angels."

"That's new information," said Aubrey. "Well, now I won't have to worry about you so much." She offered a small laugh, one he didn't return, much to her concern. "What's wrong?"

"The other day, when you had just gotten back from the cemetery…" His frown deepened. "… You burned me."

Aubrey sighed inwardly. "Right, yeah. Seriously sorry about that, I didn't mean to—"

"I know you didn't," he said hurriedly. "And it's fine, I'm alright, but… you never did tell me what happened."

"To me or to you?"

"To _you_," he said. "You started acting all weird, and you were getting really pale. Then you touched me, and gave me a burn just because of that—"

"I _am_ sorry."

"It's fine!—And then you stay locked in your room for a day," Greg finished. "What am I supposed to think happened?"

Aubrey sighed. "Being a Phoenix," she quickly started, "It means we die and come back to life. When we die, we go to Purgatory where our souls get cleansed. That's where I first met Aiden. When we come back to life though, there are sort of… memories." Greg opened his mouth to speak but she instantly shushed him. "Aiden's young," she said. "I don't think he remembers much of the pain, but from what I saw in his drawing room, he remembers what Purgatory looked like. And believe me, it's not all that bad. The other day, my Powers went haywire, for some reason. I locked my door because I couldn't risk anyone coming in to my own personal oven."

Greg's face was contorted in attentiveness. "You were out for a day—"

"Dreaming about Purgatory, yes," Aubrey finished. "Or, at least, what I think was Purgatory…" The fragments of the dream had slowly started to fade, overshadowed by the looming mission to kill Eve. Aubrey wasn't too keen on remembering them either way. "Anyway, is that all? 'Cuz I really need to get back to work with Bobby, and—"

"Just one more thing," said Greg, holding up his finger. "I heard from Sam that you're gonna be going on another hunt with them tomorrow."

Aubrey nodded. "True."

"Is it really important?"

"Yes."

"As in, life or death important?"

She hesitated. "You could say that."

"Good…" Greg paused and a ghost of a smile inched up Aubrey's lip. She didn't know what to make of what he had said, but didn't have to wait long for her suspicions to grow when he said, "Before you go, I wanted to tell you that—I just realized that I never… I never thanked you."

Aubrey raised an eyebrow. "Thanked me for what?"

"Everything you've done," he said, "For my family; Lorraine too, even though I know you don't like her very much." Aubrey smirked. "You've done a lot, risked a lot, so… thank you."

Warmth spread into her stomach all the way up her chest, renewing her sense of pride and, for a moment, blocking out the guilt she felt for Elias. She smiled at Greg, and stood up to pat his shoulder. "You're welcome," she said. "Now, I have to get going." He nodded in agreement and she turned away, walking back into the study room to find Bobby no longer sitting by his desk.

There was an almost inaudible scuffling downstairs, presumably in the basement, and Aubrey made haste to rush down there. _When she arrived, she found an unfamiliar, dirty woman standing by the wall, seeming to pin herself there. The woman was yet to notice Aubrey's presence when Castiel walked up to her and placed his hand on top of her head._

* * *

"Anything?" said Aubrey, who sat beside Castiel and across Dean and Bobby.

Bobby shook his head. "Oh, nickel-and-dime stuff. Nothing weird," he said. "You think Vampira was lying?" Aubrey threw him a disapproving look, but even that was half-hearted because in their situation, there was a chance that she had, in fact, stated a lie.

"I'll search the town," said the angel beside her. "Give me a moment." Aubrey felt him stiffen beside her and nibbled on a french fry, waiting for him to disappear. When he didn't, she glanced at him questioningly to find a deep crease between his eyebrows.

"Anyone else still see him?" Aubrey asked, to which everyone else replied with an affirmative.

Castiel started patting himself. "Yes, I'm still here."

Dean scoffed. "Okay, well, you don't have to wait on us."

The angel threw him an impatient look before closing his eyes, taking a deep breath of concentration. Dean cast another remark: "Now it just looks like you're pooping," he said as Castiel reopened his eyes.

"Something's wrong," the angel said, and Aubrey looked around them warily, keeping an eye out for anything suspicious even though there was none.

"You're stuck or something?" she inquired, returning her attention to the angel.

His frown deepened. "I'm blocked," he replied vaguely and, after a moment, added, "I'm powerless."

"You're _joking_," said Dean.

"Something in this town is… it's affecting me. I assume it's Eve."

Aubrey let out a deep sigh of frustration. "She's friggin' _cockblocking_ an _angel_. How is that even possible?"

It was meant to be a question said to herself, but considering said angel was sitting right beside her, it was only understandable that he heard. "I don't know, but she is," he answered in the same low tone she used. Aubrey's lip trailed up in a smile, one that was there for only a brief second.

"Well, great," said Dean, "Because without your power you're basically just a baby in a trench coat."

There was a beat of awkward silence before Castiel looked away from all of them, keeping his eyes out the window. Aubrey sighed and directed a scolding glare to Dean. "That was mean," she said. He opened his mouth to say something more but she quickly shushed him; he slumped back down in his chair and crossed his arms, and Aubrey started to wonder who the real baby was in their group.

* * *

Ryan reminded Aubrey too much of Aiden, which was one of the main reasons why she wanted to drive to Meritt with Sam and Dean. He looked so scared, wouldn't talk, much like how Aiden was the first day at Bobby's. But which was worse: being kidnapped and gagged by a group of monsters and being told they were food, or hearing that your stepmother wanted to kill your father? Aubrey had no idea.

Nevertheless, she followed Dean's orders and stayed with Bobby and Castiel in the police station.

She eyed the back of the angel's head, noting the way he wouldn't turn away from the window—as if he was waiting for something. Either that or something unfortunate was happening in heaven, though she very much doubted the latter option.

"Not much longer 'til they get back," said Aubrey softly.

Castiel looked over his shoulder for a brief moment, but did not meet her eyes. "You don't know that," he said.

"Actually, yes, I do—"

"They may find more wayward orphans along the way." Castiel's voice was cold, bitter, and Aubrey had never heard him talk about the Winchester brothers like that.

Defensiveness riled up in her stomach, something she was barely able to hold back. Running a hand over her face, she said, "Don't be a bitch, Cas."

"Right," she heard him mutter. He turned around, then, his arms remaining by his side limply as he raised his eyes to finally meet hers, though they were virulent. "Pardon me for highlighting their crippling and dangerous empathetic response with _sarcasm_." He made a quote-unquote gesture with his fingers, and Aubrey eyed the movement fondly, remembering a kinder time when he used it for such friendlier purposes.

Sighing, she pulled herself to her feet just as the angel continued: "It was a bad idea, letting them go."

"Come on, Cas," said Aubrey, chuckling lightly as she walked up to him. "You should know by now that you don't _let_ Sam and Dean Winchester do anything. They do what they have to." The fire in his eyes faltered, and she offered him a gentle smile. "Anyway, it's Eve we should be fighting. And if we want Eve, we need coordinates." She pointed over her shoulder. "Bobby's in there poking away at the Jefferson Starship. Now, if you have any ideas on what we can do to make him squeal—"

"I need five minutes alone with him," Castiel said, already rolling up the sleeves of his coat as he walked past her.

Aubrey raised an eyebrow and trudged to follow him. "It better not be anything too kinky," she said. From the corner of her eye, she might have caught a smile inch up his grim lips. With his batteries dead, however, she was very much doubtful that he could do much to make the Starship confess… although, there might be a few things…

* * *

**"Eve's at 25 Buckley Street."**

* * *

"This is bullshit," Aubrey muttered to herself, anxiously tapping the barrel of her shorty with a nail. "They agree to take me with them and won't even let me whoop the bitch's ass myself… Pair of idiots…"

The angel beside her must have heard her silent protests, for he sighed. "Don't let Dean hear you complaining," he said in the same low voice. "He might mistake you for a child as well."

Aubrey chuckled. "Yeah, we're just gonna have to forgive him, huh?" she replied. "You and I both know that the Winchesters can be a bit stuck-up sometimes."

"I can name one other person who is capable of outdoing their stubbornness."

"Oh, don't get _cute_—"

Her words got hitched in her throat when the blinds started sliding shut from inside the diner. Her finger started tapping and her heart dropped into her stomach. "That's not good," she murmured; the angel beside her nodded in agreement. Slowly, Aubrey brought a foot forward and, in her angst, nearly jumped out of her skin when Castiel placed a hand on her shoulder.

"What?" she quipped half-heartedly, her eyes trained on the windows of the diner for any signs of sudden movement.

"Dean told us not to go in," said the angel.

"We're not going in," she muttered back. "I just want to get a closer look. And anything that comes out that _isn't_ Sam or Dean, we shoot them with the normal bullets, alright?"

Castiel apprehension was obvious. "Aubrey, Eve doesn't know you even _exist_. If she sees you—"

"She'll do unspeakable things to me, blah blah blah," Aubrey finished uninterestedly. "Which is exactly why we _won't_ get caught, yeah?" Before he could say more, she dipped low into a hunter's crouch and advanced on the diner. Vaguely, she heard Castiel's footsteps trailing behind her, and she smiled slightly before easing back into seriousness. It wasn't soon after that they had inched close enough to one of the windows by the front door, and Aubrey was holding an ear to the wall, closing her eyes in concentration to better hear the muffled voices behind the obstruction.

"… You? No," said the eerily familiar voice of a woman. "It's _Crowley_ I want dead. He's alive, but I reckon you already know that. I see his face through every child he strings up and skins… Any idea _why_ he's hurting my babies?"

"He wants Purgatory, right?" _Dean._ "Location, location, location…" Aubrey straightened up, hope rekindling inside her. They weren't down for the count just yet if he was being so cocky.

The woman's chuckle was almost inaudible. "Is that what he told you?" she said. "It's about the souls."

"What about them?" _Sam._ Aubrey inwardly laughed in elation, but was quickly put to a stop when the woman snapped:

"They're power, you simple little monkey," she said. "Fuel."

Aubrey bristled and gritted her teeth, but made no move to burst in with guns blazing. Her anxiety was only worsened when Castiel froze beside her. Alarmed, she whirled around, bringing her pistol out. No one was there except for the angel and her; the parking lot was still empty. She regarded him, perplexed that he would not meet her eyes. She thought they were past that. Was something happening to him? Or had he heard something that she hadn't? She was about to ask when he jerked his head in what seemed to be a nod. For a beat, she remained stubborn, eyeing him with narrowed eyes, but the time came when she couldn't help herself and she returned her ear to the wall.

"… them together, you have the sun," the unnamed woman was saying. "Think what the King of Hell could do with that vast, untapped oil well, how powerful he'd be. Now Crowley wants to siphon off my supply and torture my children to do it? Okay, fine! I'll quit playing nice. I'll turn you all. Every soul: mine. Let's see how hot his hell burns when everyone comes to me. He asked for it."

Aubrey shook her head. "I can't believe we humans always get stuck right smack in the middle of these bitch fits. It's insane."

Castiel said nothing.

"You know, last I checked, there are a few _billion_ of us," said Dean, and his voice was dripping with contempt. "That plan might take a while."

"What exactly do you think I'm doing here?" the woman said. "I'm building the perfect beast." Aubrey reeled back for a moment, the realization starting to dawn on her just as it was with the brothers, she was sure.

When she once more placed her ear against the wall, Dean was talking: "Well, I think your formula might be a little off. They're imploding all over town!"

The unnamed woman sighed loudly. "Oh, there were a few unfortunate failures. But I eventually got it right. Quiet, smart, inconspicuous, it can spread through a whole town in under a day—oh, and the best part? You've been with it the whole time!" Aubrey's eyes flickered to Castiel for a brief second, thinking that if it wasn't her or Sam or Dean, it must have been him. But angels couldn't be affected by monsters and she quickly dismissed the suspicion; just in time for the woman to say: "Little Ryan."

Aubrey's stomach clenched and she pulled her head away, disbelief clouding her mind. _Ryan and Joe…_ It could easily have been Aiden and Greg if circumstances were different. Could Phoenixes even be turned by Starships? It was another mystery they were yet to solve. Meanwhile, Castiel's face had contorted in both incredulity and anger; most likely because he never wanted Joe and Ryan to be brought home in the first place. He was probably thinking that Dean had messed up again—which he had, of course, but Aubrey wasn't going to say that now.

She opened her mouth to say something reassuring when the front door suddenly opened, forcing her to crawl backward. Castiel didn't have the same idea. He shot forward and grabbed the person who had walked through the door, by the neck. He held his shotgun to the man's neck, no doubt about to waste his only Ash bullet when the stranger threw his head back, hitting Castiel's nose. He brought out a knife from the inside of his jacket and Aubrey cursed before throwing herself onto his back. He struggled but she hit his temple with the butt of her pistol, and he fell backwards to the ground, pulling her with him.

Castiel was barely able to tug him off before the door opened again, revealing two men and an unfamiliar woman. One of the men socked Castiel in the face before his ally pulled his gun and trained it on the angel's back. Castiel stopped struggling. Aubrey was yet to do the same. Using her pistol, she shot one of the men in the leg before the woman grabbed her from behind, wrapping her arm around her neck and giving her wrist such a tight squeeze that Aubrey was forced to drop the gun.

Aubrey shared a look with Castiel, though he was the only one who looked defeated. Growling slightly, she buried her teeth in the arm wrapped around her neck and it gave away. She kicked the woman away and whirled around to face the rest when a hard punch landed on her temple. Stars appeared before her eyes and she wavered on her feet. Then another punch came and she completely lost her footing. There was a light scuffling and a loud grunt before two pairs of hands gripped her arms. Aubrey renewed her skirmish but the woman landed a hard kick on her sternum. Pain erupted there and her limbs became like lead.

"Stop struggling, girl," the woman said, her and the other man picking her up off the ground. They dragged Aubrey and Castiel into the diner, where half a dozen more of their comrades were waiting, apart from Sam and Dean, who were seated in front of a blonde woman.

But Aubrey knew this woman. She remembered her from her childhood, when her own mother was still alive and used to talk and laugh amongst themselves. Previously, she had assumed that one of the people in the diner was Eve, so she had dropped her head and let her hair obscure her face, but seeing the blonde woman with Sam and Dean through half-lidded eyes… she hesitated.

"Work for me. It's a good deal. And bonus, I won't kill your friends—"

"Mary…?"

It was barely a whisper but the woman stopped talking anyway, slowly turning around to look at Aubrey; then her calm, collected features quickly turned to fear and madness as soon as she saw her.

"Scratch that," she said coldly. "I will kill this one."

What happened afterwards, through Aubrey's hazy eyes, came in a blur: Eve started towards her, her eyes blazing. Dean shot from his seat and dove towards Eve. Sam rushed for the duffel bag at the corner of the room where their guns must have been. Dean grabbed Eve's arms and made a move to pull her backwards but in a flash, Eve had switched their positions, with her behind Dean, holding _his_ arms back. She smiled menacingly before sinking her teeth into his neck.

Sam yelled, as well as Castiel, and Aubrey once again started struggling against her captors only to be silenced by another hit to the stomach. Blood rose up her throat and she coughed. Tears sprang forth in her eyes.

Then Eve's form flickered from middle-aged blond to a young brunette. All the same, fire seemed to literally be burning inside her chest as blood trickled down her nose. Black water started pouring down her hairline and her mouth, decorating her frighteningly beautiful features in a disgusting manner. She was gasping for air, looking up at her children with pleading eyes. In a second, her garbled breathing had stopped and she fell to the floor, dead.

The woman who was holding Aubrey back socked her again, but this time, Aubrey didn't stop struggling. Chaos had erupted around them and she barely heard the roar coming from Castiel: "SHUT YOUR EYES!"

Aubrey screwed her eyes shut, though even then she was able to discern a blinding flash of light that would have seared into her brain if her eyes had remained open. The tight grip on her arms disappeared and she wobbled on her feet. A warmer, gentler pair of hands shot forward and steadied her. She raised her head to find Castiel looking down at her worriedly. She coughed, regarding the bodies surrounding them. "We need to take you on more monster hunts."

He touched her forehead and a cooling sensation coursed through her, his healing. "You didn't have to do that," she muttered.

"It would have sped up the process," he replied in kind, and for a moment he just stared at her. That was before Sam called him to heal Dean as well and he was forced to turn away. Aubrey kept her eyes trained on him, wondering what he had been thinking.

* * *

**so yeah of course Eve saw what Aubrey was as soon as she laid eyes on her. but Dean took care of that, didn't he? ;)**

**ALSO, next chapter will be told in Castiel's POV! :DD IT'S THE FIRST TIME I'VE TRIED DOING THAT SO PLEASE HAVE MERCY.**


	45. The Man Who Knew Too Much

**okay so the thing i said about this new chapter being completely in Castiel's perspective... that is not entirely true. I'M SORRY i should have checked beforehand before telling you guys that. But either way, this chapter is still dependent on Castiel's inner thoughts and views. I just thought I'd add a bit of Aubrey because seriously, this story is all about THEM, not just about one or the other.**

**I hope you guys enjoy. ;)**

* * *

**Sam looked like he was trying to keep a secret. Dean didn't seem to be in on it, and Aubrey definitely wasn't, so she said, "Either you farted or there's something you're not telling us. Which one is it?"**

** Sam ignored her jab at humor and shook his head. "How **_**did**_** Crowley get away?" he said. "I mean, it's not like Cas to make mistakes like that, unless..."**

** "Unless what?" said Dean. Aubrey already had a sneaking suspicion on what he was suggesting, and she didn't like it.**

** "Unless he meant to," Sam replied, making her bristle slightly.**

** "Don't get nutty, Sammy," she retorted. "This is Cas we're talking about. He wouldn't hurt a fly unless he actually needed to."**

** He sighed. "That's what I'm worried about."**

** Dean stepped forward and interjected: "You're not serious, right?" Sam didn't reply, and Aubrey's frown deepened. "Sam?"**

** "Look, it's probably nothing," he said after a beat. "It's just… you know what? You're right, it's—it's probably nothing."**

** Aubrey refused to believe in his assumptions for even a second, but even then, there was a coil waiting to spring in her stomach; it made her want to hit herself harder than Raphael ever did.**

* * *

_You know, I've… I've been here for a very long time. And I remember many things. I remember being on a shoreline, and watching a little gray fish heave itself up on the beach, and an older brother saying, "Don't step on that fish, Castiel. Big plans for that fish." I remember the Tower of Babel… all 37 feet of it, which I suppose was impressive at the time. And when it fell, they howled divine wrath. But come on—dried dung can only be stacked so high. I remember Cain, and David and Goliath, Sodom and Gomorrah._

_ And, of course, I remember the most remarkable event—remarkable because it never came to pass. It was averted by two boys, an old drunk, and a fallen angel. The grand story and we ripped up the ending, and the rules, and destiny, leaving nothing but freedom and choice. Which is all well and good, except… Well, what if I've made the wrong choice? How am I supposed to know?_

_ I'm getting ahead of myself. Let me tell you my story. Let me tell you everything._

* * *

Aubrey was not asleep. Not really; which was why she heard the unmistakable sound of beating angel wings, something that would have sounded impossible considering she and Dean were in the Impala… for people who didn't know better, that is. Her ears perked up at the soft sound cutting into the silence, and then Castiel spoke: "Hello, Dean." The car swerved slightly to the side before Dean must have regained control. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm… I'm fine," said Dean. "How are you?"

"Just wanted to check in."

"So, any word on Satan Jr. being alive?"

"I'm… looking, believe me." The subtle hesitation in his voice didn't reassure Aubrey in the slightest. There was a speed bump, resulting in her head slipping from the head padding to rest against the cold window. Nevertheless, she kept her eyes closed but made sure not to form creases between her eyebrows. Castiel continued, "I just don't understand how Crowley could have tricked me."

"Well, he's a tricky son of a bitch, that's how," said Dean. "Doesn't matter. But if he is up and kicking, then what _does_ matter is finding him, ripping his head off and shoving it up his ass." Aubrey smiled at the quip in his voice, but remained motionless.

"What about you? Have you found anything?" Castiel asked.

"No, nothing yet."

"Where's Sam?"

"He's keeping busy. He's tracking a Djinn in Omaha as we speak," Dean said coolly, and Aubrey's gut wrenched at his lie. "In fact, I'm heading out there right now to meet up with him."

"Well, I'd come if I could—"

"No, no, I get it. No worries." There was a pause. "But Cas, you'll call, right? If you get into any real trouble?" There was no reply, so Aubrey only assumed that Castiel had nodded his head. Again came the sound of fluttering wings and she cracked one eye open to find the passenger seat vacant, only her and Dean in the car once more.

Her heart clenched, and she released a heavy sigh. "Shit."

* * *

_**"The point is: you're distracted, and that makes me nervous... I thought we'd agreed: no more nights out with Aubrey and the boys… Forgive me, but I think you might have a little conflict of interest here."**_

_ Crowley had a point, of course. My interest was conflicted. I still considered myself the Winchesters' guardian… and Aubrey's. After all, they taught me how to stand up, what to stand for, and what generally happens to you when you do. I was done. I was over. And then the most extraordinary thing happened: I was put back. And we had won. We stopped Armageddon, but at a terrible cost. And so I knew what I had to do next._

_ Once again, I went to Harrow Hell, to free Sam from Lucifer's cage. It was nearly impossible, but I was so full of confidence, of mission. I see now that was arrogance... Hubris... Because, of course, I hadn't truly raised Sam—not all of him. Sometimes we're lucky enough to be given a warning. This should have been mine._

_**"I'm begging you, Castiel: just kill the Winchesters."**_

_** "No." Never.**_

_** "Fine. Then I'll do it myself."**_

_** "If you kill them, I'll just bring them back again."**_

_** "No, you won't. Not where I'll put them. Trust me."**_

_** "… Find Purgatory. If you don't, we will both die, over and over again until the end of time. The Winchesters won't get to you."**_

* * *

"So," said Sam. "What happened?" Aubrey despised the suspicion that was already laced in his voice. She glared at him half-heartedly, some part of her knowing that he was just trying to look out for them.

Dean sighed. "I saw Cas. He popped in on us about two hours back."

"And what'd you tell him?"

"Nothing, alright?" A defensive tone edged into Dean's words, and Aubrey understood why. "I told him we were on some crap monster hunt. He doesn't know that we're getting close to Crowley. You know, he's our friend... and we are lying to him through our teeth."

"Dean—"

"So he burned the wrong bones, so Crowley tricked him!"

"He's an _angel_," Sam argued in a hushed tone.

"He is the Balki Bartokomous of Heaven! He can make a mistake!"

"I'm not saying anything yet—"

"You seem to be," Aubrey muttered, finally cutting in on the conversation. Two pairs of eyes turned to look at her and she met each of them with confident ease. "I've been in this job for as long as any of you have, and I know doubt when I see it." She looked pointedly at Sam, who was the only one harboring most of it.

He hesitated for a moment before saying, "Aubrey, he's our friend, too, okay? And I'd die for him. I would, but..." He paused. "I'm praying we're wrong here. But if we're not, if there's even the smallest chance here, that means we're dealing with a Superman who's gone dark side. We've got to be smart about this, and maybe even have to stock up on some Kryptonite."

* * *

_So, they already suspected. And the worst part was Dean, trying so hard to be loyal with every instinct telling him otherwise. And Aubrey… I don't even know what I have with her, be it friendship or something else—something I, in my millennia this earth, haven't ever experienced before. She's still upset with me; I know that. Then with my apparent betrayal looming over her… I'm starting to fear that she may never forgive me._

* * *

Aubrey grimaced as Dean twisted the knife again, and the demon screamed. "I never even met him!" he said, confessing. "I don't deal with Crowley direct."

"Well, who do you deal with?"

"The dispatcher… a demon named Ellsworth."

* * *

_If there was a demon counterpart to Bobby Singer, Ellsworth would be it. These demons would lead the Winchesters and Aubrey to Crowley, and Crowley would tear their hearts out… and so I did what I had to—I had no choice. I did it to protect the boys, to protect Aubrey… or to protect myself._

_ I don't know anymore._

* * *

The house wasn't supposed to be empty. There was supposed to be a demon dispatcher sitting behind the desk, perhaps playing with a knife or talking through a wooden bowl filled with blood; Aubrey didn't know. Instead, there was nothing and no one. Not even a trace of sulfur and no hints of a struggle anywhere. Aubrey's feeling of dread only deepened and she shook her head in defeat.

"It's too clean," she heard Sam say. "It's kind of OCD for your average demon, don't you think?" Aubrey wished she could say he was just saying those things to spite Cas' name, but the truth was: he wasn't. It was the plain reality that she just refused to admit to herself. Why, though? Because Castiel was her friend? Because he would have gotten mad if she turned on him? She would have gotten mad at herself for turning on him.

* * *

_Hiding... Lying... Sweeping away evidence. And my motives used to be so pure. After supposedly saving Sam, I finally returned to heaven. Of course, there isn't one heaven. Each soul generates its own paradise. I favored the eternal Tuesday afternoon of an autistic man who drowned in a bathtub in 1953._

_**"He chose you, Cas... To lead us."**_

_** "No. No one leads us anymore. We're all free to make our own choices, and to choose our own fates."**_

_** "What does God want?"**_

_** "God wants you to have freedom."**_

_** "But what does he want us to do with it?"**_

_ If I knew then what I know now, I might have said, "It's simple. Freedom is a length of rope. God wants you to hang yourself with it." Those first weeks back in heaven were surprisingly difficult. Explaining freedom to angels is a bit like teaching poetry to fish. And then there was Raphael... I'm not ashamed to say that my big brother knocked me into next week._

_**"Tomorrow you kneel, Castiel... Or you, and anyone with you, dies."**_

* * *

Aubrey was upset when Castiel didn't reply to Dean's prayer, but it only got worse when the demons came.

* * *

_But I didn't go to them… Because I knew they would have questions I couldn't answer… Because I was afraid._

* * *

She wasn't angry, or annoyed, or livid. She simply felt numb; all she wanted to do was lie down in her bed and wait for Castiel to come and tell her that everything was fine, that he hadn't betrayed them and wasn't ever going to, that he didn't answer because Raphael was kicking his ass, and that he had burned the wrong bones by accident—that everything Sam and Bobby were assuming about him were false truths planted there by coincidence...

* * *

_Crowley sent his very best. I was caught as much by surprise as the rest of them. And it left me with yet another choice. I could reveal myself and smite the demons. Of course Crowley wouldn't like it. But on the other hand, they were my friends. And for a brief moment, I was me again._

* * *

... But when he _did_ come, just to smite the demons that were ganging up on them, Aubrey didn't find herself the least bit relieved. Perhaps it was the way he arrived right on time, or the fluidity in his movements—as if he knew exactly where each of them was—, but perhaps it was even the look of pride that was on his face when he was finished. He always looked grim after a smiting, never satisfied or arrogant. When he stepped closer to her to help her up, she accepted his help with more reluctance than she was used to.

It didn't help any when he stated that his _good news_ was the well-known fact about Crowley: "I firmly believe Crowley is alive," he said, and Aubrey barely hid her grimace.

Dean, however, laughed. "Yeah, you think, Kojak?" he said, before switching his gaze to Sam. "Well, Sammy, what do we think about Cas saving our asses… again?"

Sam wouldn't meet his eyes. "I think we owe you an apology."

"Why?"

"We've been hunting Crowley this whole time," he said, "And keeping it from you. We thought…" He hesitated. "We thought you were working with him."

Aubrey eyed the angel's face with extremely observant eyes, waiting for the truthful surprise that was supposed to flash across. It didn't, instead substituted with a dishonest crease above the bridge of his nose, and a frown that didn't quite suggest he was upset. "You thought what?" he said, making Aubrey's heart clench. _I can't believe this…_

Dean awkwardly patted his back. "I know. It's crazy, right?"

"It is a little absurd, though," said Castiel, "Superman going to the Dark Side. I'm still just Castiel."

Her whole world came crashing down, then, toppling the very foundation she'd built with the angel. And yet, miraculously, she still found the strength to smile, even though her heart was pulling apart piece by piece, the fragments she'd learned to put back together with tape that was never going to be strong enough to hold. The smile was forged, exactly like the past day she'd spent thinking about the angel's innocence, when he was anything but.

* * *

_Wonders never cease. They trusted me again. But it was just another lie. Of course, I didn't realize it at the time. But it was all over. Right then—just like that._

_**"They're my friends."**_

_** "You can't have friends, not anymore. I mean, my God, you're losing it!"**_

_** "I'm fine."**_

_** "Yeah. You're the very picture of mental health. Come on. You don't think I know what this is all about?"**_

_** "Enlighten me."**_

_** "The big lie—the Winchesters still buy it. **_**Aubrey **_**still buys it. The good Cas, the righteous Cas. And long as they still believe it, you get to believe it. Well, I got news for you, kitten. A whore is a whore is a whore—"**_

_** "I'm only gonna say this once. If you touch a hair on their heads, I will tear it all down. Our arrangement—everything. I'm still an angel, and I will bury you."**_

_ I asked myself, "What am I doing with this vermin?" As if I didn't already know the answer. Raphael was stronger than me. I wouldn't survive a straight fight. So I went to an old friend for help: Dean. But watching him, I stopped. Everything he sacrificed, and I was about to ask him for more. Aubrey was never going to be an option anymore; I wasn't going to ask her to hold her head out the window any further with how fast this train was going. I needed help from someone who had never even thought of aiding me in his wildest dreams._

_**"Hear me out,"**__ the King of Hell had said. __**"Five minutes. No obligations. I promise—I'll make it worth your while."**_

_ I was no fool. I knew who Crowley was and what he did. But I was smarter than him, stronger. I see now that I was prideful. And in all likelihood, I was a fool._

_**"…What if I said I knew how to go nuclear?"**_

_** "What do you mean?"**_

_** "Purgatory, my fine feathered friend. Purgatory. Just think about it: an untapped oil well of every fanged, clawed soul. I mean, what's that over the years? 30 million? 40 million? Just sitting there, plump and rich for the taking."**_

_** "This is pointless. Your plan would take months, and I need help now."**_

_** "Granted, yes. But just to show you how serious I am about this scheme... How about I float you a little loan? Say, 50 large? 50,000 souls from the pit. You can take them up to heaven. Make quite a showing. It's either this or the Apocalypse all over again. Everything you've worked for—everything that Sam and Dean and that little Phoenix have worked for—gone. You can save us, Castiel. God chose you to save us. And I think, deep down, you know that."**_

_ I wish I could say I was clean of pride at that moment... or the next. So went the long road of good intentions… The road that brought me here._

* * *

She said nothing at all when Sam proposed they trap him in a ring of holy oil and question him, and literally looked away when they underwent the plan. The fire burned high and bright, and it was enough to remind Aubrey of the flames in Purgatory… but she was only looking for an excuse. _I don't want to look at the flames because it torments me,_ she told herself over and over again. But Castiel kept speaking, and Sam and Dean were yelling at him now. Aubrey made sure they all saw her scowl before she walked out, finding refuge in the backseat of the Impala.

Bobby and the boys followed her soon after, of course, and she raised her head just in time to see the large black cloud of demon-smoke flying towards them before Dean started the car and they were driving away.

Even then, with Sam and Dean and Bobby in a state of bewilderment and disbelief and anger, she remained voiceless, unfeeling, numb, staring out the window and thinking of anything else but the angel who promised her many things, but couldn't seem to keep any of them. Was she angry, was she bitter, or simply so full of utter sadness that she couldn't tell the difference anymore?

* * *

_**"You know the difference between you and me? I know what I am. What are you, Castiel? What exactly are you willing to do?"**_

* * *

Aubrey couldn't sleep yet she kept her eyes closed anyway. But when a strong gust of wind blew over her, she sincerely wished that she was, in fact, asleep. In the stillness of the room, there came his voice: "Aubrey."

She didn't want to speak, afraid that her voice would break if she ever did. She had to, though, and indeed, her voice broke. "Castiel." The feeling of his whole name on her tongue was an oddity in itself; it sounded completely alien. "Bobby's sigils didn't work, huh?" She kept her voice hushed; knowing that Sam and Dean were still awake downstairs and she didn't want them thundering up to her room, for Greg and Aiden were sure to follow and she most ardently did _not_ want that.

"He got a few things wrong," said Castiel, and Aubrey closed her eyes, not wanting a reason to look at him.

"Why are you here?" she whispered, gripping the beddings beneath her with sweaty hands.

The angel's footsteps carried around the bed and stopped beside her, where the mattress sank beneath where he sat. Aubrey's eyes snapped open and she inched farther away, pulling the blankets to her chest; not because of her modesty, but because she'd never feared him before, and she knew that she never would... She wasn't sure she even trusted him anymore.

"You weren't there when I tried explaining myself to the others," he murmured. "And I want you to understand more than any of them."

"_Understand_?" she nearly yelled, but reeled herself back just enough. "_You_ want _me_ to understand why you're working with the demon that _tortured_ me—and might have raped me but I suppose he'd already have told you if he did, am I right?" Castiel flinched, and Aubrey felt newfound anger welling up inside her; she was shaking. "I haven't known you for nearly as long as Dean and Sam have, but I _trusted_ you. And you've become Crowley's bitch."

"Aubrey, please." He reached a hand out to touch her, but she slapped it away, eyes blazing in fury.

She scrambled off the bed and to her feet, yelling, now: "Screw you, Cas! You know, if you would have had this talk with Dean, he might have had some inspiring words to bring you back, maybe even a prep talk about how he'll always forgive you. But you won't get any of that _bullshit_ from me. I've always been willing to forgive you, Cas, but what you've done now… I don't know anymore. We could have _helped_, Cas. Just to return the favor because you have gone through so much shit for us." She shook her head, lapsing into silence.

"It sounds so simple when you say it like that," said Castiel, and now his voice was barely a whisper. "Where were you when I needed to hear it?"

"I was _there_, Cas!" Aubrey yelled. "Don't turn this on me! Where the fuck were _you_?"

Past the heated muteness, she discerned the distant sound of footsteps trudging up the stairs. Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes but she glared at Castiel anyway. "Leave," she said, and her voice was very quiet.

He took a single step forward. "But—"

"_Leave_."

There was a pregnant pause, and then the sound of heavily beating wings. Aubrey rushed from her spot to the door, clicking the lock into place. After, she dragged herself back onto her bed; the knocks coming from behind her door were background noise. Her body was numb again, but her chest felt like it was going to burst open.

Sleep didn't come, and neither did the tears, but she wished they would because it had been so long since she'd just let herself give way completely. The betrayal was eating her up inside, and the words she'd thrown at the angel echoed in her head like jingling bells; they burned her from the inside out, worse than anything she could ever remember from her nightmares of Purgatory. She deeply wanted to forgive him, but the rod he had given her couldn't cast a line long enough for her to retrieve his redemption from the bottom of the ocean.

* * *

_"So, that's everything. I believe it's what you would call a tragedy from the human perspective. But maybe the human perspective is limited. I don't know. That's why I'm asking you, Father. One last time. Am I doing the right thing? Am I on the right path?"_

_ Desperation clawed at him like hounds from the deepest parts of Hell._

_ "You have to tell me. You have to give me a sign! Give me a sign. Because if you don't… I'm gonna just—I'm gonna do whatever I... Whatever I must."_

_ No signs would come to him, he believed, though he was frightened enough to try. But he had done too much. It was too late. He hung his head, imagining a noose tied around his neck and wishing that it would, undoubtedly, kill him._

* * *

**i'm sorry if it was a bit difficult to keep up. Basically, the italicized paragraphs are Castiel narrating, the ones in bold are conversations held between Crowley and Castiel (except for the one at the very start: that's sort of a "previously on Spitting Fire" thing), and the ones in normal text are told in Aubrey's perspective.**

**Yay or Nay? Make sure to review! ^^**


	46. Chapter 46 - FINALE (PART 1)

**second to the last chapter! :'DD**

**I do not own Supernatural or any of its characters. I only own my OC's and anything related to their characters.**

* * *

Dean had finally warmed up to Aiden, accepting him as a part of the home. "He's like a younger, less-bitchy Ben," he always told Aubrey. She rolled her eyes at the memory and fondly watched as he sat with Aiden on the living room carpet. Dean picked up one (toy) car after another, reciting the names of each of them to the wide-eyed boy sitting in front of him. Greg and Lorraine watched them from the sofa; Aubrey, however, was in the study room with Sam, musty books piled high in front of them. She turned her head to the far right and caught Bobby walking to and fro the bookshelves, grumbling to himself.

They'd been at it for nearly six hours; Greg and the family had only come down at the fourth hour, eating breakfast before retreating to the living room. Normally, Dean was supposed to be the one researching and Aubrey was supposed to be playing with Aiden, but the boy had pulled him away, loudly requesting that he help him name his new cars.

Aubrey ran a hand over her face, feeling the fatigue wash over her like warm water. She hadn't gotten an ounce of sleep the previous night because of only one obvious reason. Her eyes felt heavy, the lids sticking to each other whenever she blinked. It was irritating, but she figured that it was better than sleeping. She had this irrational fear that, if she fell asleep, Castiel would visit her there; she wasn't sure what the better prospect was: staying and talking to him, because it wasn't real anyway—perhaps in her dreams, he had never even met Crowley before; it was what she wished—or gasping awake and losing every chance of falling asleep ever again.

With an impatient grunt, she slammed Colt's journal shut. "Samuel's journals are pointless," she stated, closing the notebook beneath it as well. "And Jebediah Campbell has squat to tell me about how to stop Cas from cracking Purgatory."

Bobby hastily trudged down the stairs and walked into the study room, a manila folder in his hand. "Well, actually, it's not about the journals we have," he said. "It's about the one we don't."

"Meaning?" Aubrey inquired, once again plumping down on the cushion with squinted eyes.

"That's the bad news," said Bobby, and she looked up just in time to find his lips pressed into a thin line. "Our pal Cas didn't stop in last night just to mend fences." He looked at Aubrey knowingly, though she wouldn't look at him, instead glaring down at the floor with gritted teeth.

Sam straightened up. "What did he do?"

"Stole something."

_Son of a bitch._ "Stole what?" said Sam.

"The journal of one Moishe Campbell."

Aubrey raised an eyebrow and, for a moment, she forgot about her afflictions. "_Moishe_?" she repeated, smiling slightly.

Bobby's eyes glittered with amusement. "Of the New York Campbells," he said, making Aubrey chuckle.

"So, we got to get it back," said Sam, "Right?"

Bobby raised the manila folder in his hand, "Or just read the copy I had already made," shrugging as he placed it on the desk. "Hi, glad to meet you. Bobby Singer, paranoid bastard."

Aubrey stood from her seat and read the contents of the folder over Sam's shoulder. "Better to be paranoid than dead," she said.

"Preach, sister!" Dean called from the living room, followed by Aiden's tinkling chuckle. That meant the hunter had been listening in on their conversation ever since the beginning, which Aubrey supposed was a good thing because they didn't need to explain the situation to him afterwards. But then he had heard about what Castiel had done… Aubrey knew that he was hurting as much as she was.

* * *

With three of them scanning the hundreds of pages in the folder, it took half an hour for them to find something. Bobby had been the one to hone in on it; "I think I zeroed in on something," he said, handing a yellowed paper to Aubrey, who passed by him.

She read the sentence Bobby had apparently underlined: "_Went to talk to Howard Phillips about the events of March 10__th__._"

"That's March 10, 1937," Bobby clarified, kicking his feet up on one of the vacant chairs.

"So who's this _Phillips_ guy?" asked Aubrey, setting the paper down and raising her head to find Dean walking into the room.

Bobby regarded the new arrival with a bob of his head. "_Phillips _ain't his last name," he replied, meeting Aubrey's eyes. "It's _Lovecraft_."

Aubrey froze, and Sam literally knocked his huge knee against the bottom of the desk, but he didn't seem to notice. "Wait, as in, H.P. Lovecraft?" he said. Bobby nodded and Sam snatched the piece of paper off the table. "Let me see that…"

"Am I supposed to know who that is?" Dean asked, looking at Aubrey with a slight frown.

She scoffed in disbelief. "H.P. Lovecraft, horror writer?" Dean said nothing. "_At the Mountains of Madness_, _The Call of Cthulhu_?"

After a brief pause, Dean nodded his head slowly. "Oh yeah… No, I was too busy having sex." Aubrey made a move to slap his arm but he pulled away just in time, pointing at her hand warily. "You know you still can't control your strength."

"It's not my fault you're gross, talking about women like that—"

"Since when did you care if I talked about sex?"

"Since just now!"

"_Anyhow_," Bobby interjected firmly, making Aubrey and Dean lapse into silence. He continued,"There's one notion that comes up over and over again in his stories—namely, opening doors to other dimensions and letting scary crap through."

Aubrey leaned forward in her chair. "So, you're saying Lovecraft might have known something about Purgatory?"

Bobby shrugged. "Big chance, considering Moishe paid him a visit."

"Alright…" She thought for a moment before pulling out five pages from the manila folder. "Let's try and see where Lovecraft lived, hm?" She had only just sat back down when Dean's phone started ringing.

He looked at the caller ID, and he seemed to recognize who it was before he placed the phone against his ear: "Ben?" There was a brief, muffled reply, followed by confusion flashing across Dean's face. "What?" Another reply, longer this time. Dean all but threw his papers away and leaned forward, his eyes trained on a spot beneath Aubrey's chair. "What are they?" Aubrey's heart dropped, and she concentrated enough to be able to hear the shorter responses.

"Did you see their eyes?" asked Dean. _No_. "Teeth?" _No_. "This is important, Ben, I need to know." _I don't know._ "Ben, where are you now?" Aubrey was barely able to catch the word '_room_'. "Can you get to your mom's closet? I left a shotgun there." The corresponding _no_ was louder this time, and she could have heard the desperation. She shot to her feet as Dean covered his face with his hand; when he pulled it away, his eyes were glassy. "Okay, Ben, listen to me," he said. "Go to your window and jump." _What?_ "Any bones you break won't compare to what they're gonna do to you, Ben. You've got to jump."

There was a short pause, and then, _Okay._

"I'm coming right now," said Dean, and Aubrey practically dove to get the car keys off the table. "I'm gonna get you and your mom, I promise. You with me, Ben?" As far as Aubrey could hear, there was no answer. "Ben?" Dean's lip was quivering, now. "Ben!" He pulled the phone away and stared down at it with tear-brimmed eyes. Aubrey was about to toss him the keys, assure him that they were going to find Ben, when a low voice came from the phone's speaker and he had once again placed the phone to his ear.

His eyes widened in confusion, and then disbelief, before narrowing in anger. "Crowley," he growled, and a shiver of fear ran down Aubrey's spine at the name. "Let them go _now_, or I swear—" He was cut off, but she could see his jaw clenching. "I'm going to kill you," he said, and Aubrey believed him. He stood up to his full height and started pacing around the room, practically shaking with fury as Crowley continued speaking to him through the phone. "I'm telling you," said Dean, "Last chance to let 'em go easy."

Only two words stood out from what Crowley said next, the only two words that Aubrey was able to make out: _Stand down_. After that, Dean removed the phone from his ear and ended the call. His face was contorted in a mixture of rage and undeniable panic.

"What's the story?" Bobby asked, not sounding so cool and collected anymore.

"He said Lisa and Ben keep breathing," said Dean, "As long as we sit on our thumbs."

"Bullshit," Aubrey spat, and from the corner of her eye she saw Sam nodding in agreement. "I don't know about you guys, but I'm not gonna let us just sit here. We're going after that son of a bitch and give him what's coming to him."

Sam sighed. "I couldn't agree more," he said, then seemed to hesitate for a moment. "But… do you think Cas knows about this?"

"We got to assume he does," Dean murmured in reply; he seemed to have reached a decision because, a second later, he had snatched the keys out of Aubrey's hand and started walking out of the room. He said, "Come on, Sam."

Aubrey started forward. "Hey, I'm coming too—!"

"No," said Dean, turning around to look at her with steady eyes. "You're gonna stay here and watch Aiden while Bobby stays on the Lovecraft thing."

To this, Bobby slowly got to his feet. "No, guys…"

"Bobby," Dean cut in. "This is a big ball, okay? We can't drop it now."

After a moment, Bobby nodded. Aubrey stared at Dean, conflicted, but when he met her eyes, she saw the underlying fear, and she knew that Lisa and Ben… they could have easily been Aiden and Greg. She had to protect them, else Crowley could just stroll in and capture them, perhaps kill Aiden again to further aid his chances with Purgatory. No, she couldn't leave them.

Still conflicted, she walked up to Dean and hugged him tightly, murmuring against his chest: "Be safe. And kick his ass for me."

"Sure thing," he replied in earnest before pulling away and disappearing out the front door, Sam following soon after. In the living room, Greg noticed the walk-out and sent Aubrey a questioning look. She shook her head in a subtle response, frowning grimly before turning around.

She thought things couldn't get any worse, but then she saw that Bobby was already gathering the papers and stuffing them back into the manila folder. Without looking at her, he said, "I'm leaving tomorrow. Better get on it before Cas beats us to the punch."

He was right, of course: they couldn't let Castiel beat them, but she couldn't help but feel concerned about what was going to happen in the next few days. Aiden was sure to be next on Crowley's list of _People to threaten for the Winchesters_, and she knew that Castiel had already branded them with Enochian sigils (Aubrey didn't want to think of _why_ he did it)—something Lisa and Ben never had—but ideas were already springing up in her mind on how she was going to keep them all from dying, and Aubrey was willing enough to try.

* * *

It was her second day alone with the family, and she was watching Percy Jackson with them when Lorraine suddenly pulled her away to the kitchen. Greg stared after them with what seemed to be approving eyes, while Aubrey just let herself be pulled away with much confusion. Lorraine sat her down on a chair and grabbed a seat for herself before letting go of her arm. The expression on her face was more than hesitant, Aubrey saw, and she started wondering exactly what was about to happen. Aubrey made it a point to let her talk first so as to not upset the woman.

"Alright," said Lorraine, clearing her throat. "It's come to my attention that Aiden is very fond of you, and so is Greg, and he's told me what you've been doing for us—to keep us safe." Aubrey raised an eyebrow as she cleared her throat again. "I'll just put this out of the way," Lorraine murmured, "Thank you."

"Sorry?" Aubrey honestly hadn't heard; she probably should have approached it more gingerly, because Lorraine, for a brief moment, sent her a dirty look.

"Thank you," Lorraine loudly repeated, "for… _exorcising_ me. And Greg tells me that it hasn't been easy: protecting us.I thought that I would show my gratitude to you before you get yourself killed or something." She raised an eyebrow. "In my understanding, your job is very dangerous, correct?"

Aubrey tried not to smirk at how formal she sounded. "Yeah," she answered. "It's no problem, though, really. I'm just happy that you haven't ratted us out yet."

Lorraine's lip twitched up in a small smile. "There were a few close calls." She said nothing more after that, and Aubrey opened her mouth to speak, perhaps convey some facts that could interest her, about Aiden, but Lorraine had already stood up and walked back to the living room. She sat down beside Greg, who wrapped an arm around her shoulders and said something into her ear. Her hair covered Greg's mouth so Aubrey couldn't make out what he said.

Nevertheless, a warm feeling blossomed from her chest and she let herself wallow in satisfaction. But there were many pressing matters at hand, and she couldn't allow herself to be to laid-back for more than a minute.

* * *

At 11 o'clock, Lorraine had gone upstairs to bed with Aiden, presumably to tuck him in, if she even still did that. Aubrey sat behind Bobby's desk in the study room, a cold bottle of beer in her hand as she stared down at her phone. _Either the boys or Bobby should have called by now,_ she thought, frowning. From where she sat, she could vaguely make out, from the corner of her eye, the salt lines by the front door.

She had done it as soon as Bobby left, explaining to Aiden that they were playing a long-term game. It was a stupid lie, and she had no idea how they were going to keep Aiden in the dark for much longer; he had started getting suspicious, and they were lucky enough that Lorraine had agreed that it was better for him not to know anything about the world of the supernatural yet.

Greg walked into the room,saw Aubrey sitting there, and said, "You sort of look constipated there, Aubrey. You sure you're alright?"

She smirked lightly. "Funny."

"Seriously," said Greg. "Are you okay? You've been… off, lately."

As much as she wanted to deny it, he was right. She had been _very_ off lately. Guilt was coursing through her practically every minute of every day. Not just because of the things she'd said to Cas, but also because of everything that had gone down with Finch at Past-Wyoming. She had been positive that the remorse would die down, given time. After all, killing him was for the greater good. Then—_Greater good,_ she mused, unsmiling. _"There's a bigger picture here." That's what Cas would say._ What did she care what Cas would say? She wasn't supposed to think about him anymore, let alone care; he was the enemy, now.

He was standing side by side with Crowley, and he was in on Lisa and Ben's kidnapping… or, at least, that was what they assumed. And they hated him. Even Dean started despising them as soon as he found out about Lisa and Ben. But even now… Aubrey didn't know if it was right to _abhor_ the angel. She was angry, betrayed… but did she really hate him? She didn't want to think about it too much, and therefore halted her thoughts then and there.

"I guess so," she told Greg.

He pulled up a chair for himself and regarded her earnestly: "Wanna talk about it?"

She frowned. "Not really."

"Come on."

"Greg, seriously, I don't want to."

He sighed. "Will you at least tell me what's been happening? Sam and Dean had left so abruptly, I didn't know what to think…"

Aubrey hesitated, and then answered, "Dean's… _friends_… they were kidnapped."

Greg visually stiffened. "Kidnapped," he repeated, a questioning tilt in his voice.

She nodded. "By Crowley. There's sort of been this whole… misunderstanding between us, and—"

"Aubrey, I'm not Aiden," said Greg. "You don't have to be blunt with me. I can take it." He put in a light chuckle, no doubt to lighten her obviously grim mood; it didn't work.

"Alright," she said. "Just listen carefully, okay? I don't want to have to repeat all this." He leaned forward enthusiastically, but the serious expression on his face was unquestionable. Aubrey sprung right to it: "Crowley's close to finding Purgatory. Very close, in fact, and that's why he's threatening Sam and Dean. He wants us to stand down. He doesn't want us in the way."

Greg nodded in understanding. "That's why he took Dean's friends, as leverage," he said. Aubrey gave a small bob of her head. "Well, if it's so serious, why don't you just call Castiel? From what I understand, you guys seem to be very close to him. He could help, right?"

She had deeply wanted for Greg _not_ to bring up the angel in their conversation, but she supposed it couldn't be helped; nevertheless, she wouldn't meet his eyes as she said, "Cas is in it with Crowley. He wants Purgatory too. We can't exactly call him right now, huh?"

There was a pregnant silence that seemed to stretch on forever, before Greg said, "But he's your friend," his voice full of disbelief; "He branded those things on our ribs to keep us safe! Why would he—?" Aubrey flashed him a warning look, and the expression on her face must have been explanation enough for him to stop talking. "Sorry," he murmured and, after a while, added, "So where's Bobby at?" No doubt an attempt at changing the subject.

Before Aubrey could reply—and she wanted to, already opened her mouth to speak, in fact—, there came a loud banging on the front door. Then more on the backdoor, which was the one in Aubrey's sights. By the salted window there, she saw a dark figure standing outside; the flash from the glint of a knife was warning enough.

Aubrey roughly pulled Greg onto his feet and shoved him up the stairs. "Get Aiden and Lorraine," she told him in a low, but stern voice. "There's a gun and a bag of salt in one of the bathroom drawers—get them and wait for me there. Line the door and don't open it unless it's me. The code is _Percy_. Go!"

He hastily stumbled up the steps, nearly always tripping over his own feet. Aubrey shot toward the drawer in Bobby's study room and pulled out a small bottle of holy water, and the demon-killing knife. She pocketed the holy water and sheathed the knife in her belt—not exactly safe, but she had no other option.

Beneath a loose tile in the living room, Aubrey retrieved a shorty with salt bullets, something Bobby had advised for her to hide there, and, after checking inside for ammunition, pointed it towards the backdoor. There was a window there, but she couldn't shoot it because the debris would no doubt blow away the salt lines she'd made. Apparently, she didn't have to. One of the demons broke the window with his elbow, and as she'd expected, the salt lines went away. Aubrey pulled the trigger of her shorty and hit one demon in the chest; as he flew backwards, she gave the shorty a good pump before shooting another demon in the stomach. He flew back as well.

One of them was now attempting to kick the front door open, and a second after the backdoor, as well. Out the window, Aubrey caught a glimpse of at least half a dozen men, with either knives or guns. She ran up the stairs and to the bathroom at the side of the hall. She wildly banged her fists on it, yelling, "PERCY! GREG, IT'S ME! PERCY—!" The door flew open, revealing Greg, who was pointing a pistol at her. Aiden cowered behind him, beside Lorraine, who was holding a kitchen knife out towards her. Aubrey didn't bother to ask where she'd gotten it, already dragging them back down the hall.

"We have to get you to the safe room," she said, breathless, "In the basement. Greg, use that gun and shoot whatever comes at you. Lorraine, stab. Aiden, I want you to stay right behind me, alright? You just don't let go of my hand—"

"Is this another game?" the boy asked, clearly frightened out of his wits.

"No, Aiden," said Aubrey. "No more time for games." Once they were three steps from the foot of the stairs, she grabbed his hand and pulled him to her side, right before shooting a demon in the face. His eyes flashed—literally—for a moment before he dropped to the ground. Aubrey pumped her shorty and released another round into a second demon's face. The same fate met him and Aubrey resumed pulling Aiden into the backroom, where three demons waited for them.

She shot one in the head, but just as it slithered to the floor another one thundered towards her and grabbed her wrists, pinning them and her to the wall. He squeezed and Aubrey was forced to drop her shorty. The demon's eyes glazed over, turning black, and he grinned maliciously.

"Bonus points for killing you," he growled, and Aubrey felt the cold edge of a knife pricking skin. Thinking quickly, she bit the demon's hand. For a moment, the knife dug deep into her neck, before he dropped it. Yelling, Aubrey unsheathed the demon-killing knife from her belt and stabbed it into the demon's neck.

She removed the knife, sheathed it, and didn't wait for him to drop to the floor. Her attention was already caught by Aiden, who was struggling against a stranger's arms. The demon had a gun. Lorraine stood to the side, seemingly looking for an opening; her eyes were wide with fear. Aubrey leaned down to pick up her shorty when a foreign gunshot rang through the air.

It was Greg. He had pulled the trigger of his small pistol and hit the demon's shoulder. The demon turned around to shoot him back, a blow Greg wouldn't have survived, but Aubrey pumped her shorty again and shot him at the side—it was a narrow shot, but she made it. Aiden fell to the floor as the demon's grip loosened, but Aubrey was quick to help him up and continue through a doorway and down another set of stairs.

_How many are dead? _she thought wildly as they descended into the darkness. Five? Six? She couldn't be sure. Aiden's hand was cold and sweaty within hers, and behind them, she could hear the heavy footsteps of Greg and Lorraine trailing after them. They broke through another entryway and the door to the safe room was only a few feet away now, but within the gloomy receiving room, there were five men waiting for them—three with knives, two with guns.

"Lorraine, run for the safe room," Aubrey muttered quickly, right before letting go of Aiden's hand—making sure that Lorraine caught him before jumping into the fray.

She was quick to release two rapid shots into two demons, the ones with guns, but a third jumped her and threw her to the ground. Her shorty flew out of her grasp and skidded to the far end of the dark room. The demon straddled her, and Aubrey made a move to rise but he wrapped his hands around her neck and knocked her head against the floor—hard. Past his shoulder, she caught a brief glimpse of Greg facing off with two other men. As Lorraine and Aiden ran past, one attempted to grab them but Greg shot him.

Aubrey was forced to look away as the demon on top of her started strangling her; she gagged, gasping for air as tears erupted from the corners of her eyes. The demon smiled down at her nastily, knocking her head against the floor a second time. "Crowley says I shouldn't kill you with iron," he muttered. "He says it'll keep you from coming back. But that was my friend you just killed back there."

"You care?" Aubrey rasped, feebly scratching at the fingers around her neck.

His smile stayed as he said, "Care to test his theory?" The blade glinted beneath the faraway light from the safe room, seeming to wink at Aubrey. She could see her face on the smooth surface, weakly pushing against the demon to no avail, and she was afraid. _Iron will keep me from coming back,_ she thought, starting to get lightheaded as her vision turned dull. _No more Purgatory… but no Sam and Dean either. No more Impala, no more beers, no more Bobby calling us 'idjits'…_

A deep sense of sorrow—past the panic—passed through her as the demon positioned the knife over her chest.

* * *

**CLIFFHANGER MWAHAHAHAHA**

**final update for Spitting Fire comes in a week! Hang onto your hats until then!**

**... And also don't forget to review HAHAHA**


	47. Chapter 46 - FINALE (PART 2)

_**The blade glinted beneath the faraway light from the safe room, seeming to wink at Aubrey; she could see her face on the smooth surface, weakly pushing against the demon to no avail, and she was afraid. **__Iron will keep me from coming back,__** she thought, starting to get lightheaded as her vision turned dull. **__No more Purgatory… but no Sam and Dean either. No more Impala, no more beers, no more Bobby calling us 'idjits'…_

_** A deep sense of sorrow—past the panic—passed through her as the demon positioned the knife over her chest.**_

She felt the point prick the skin over her plaid shirt, digging deeper and deeper… Aubrey was sure that even without momentum, a demon was more than capable of driving it straight down until the hilt. There was a sharp pain and warmth erupted from where the knife had surely cut through her skin. The demon flashed his teeth. He was making it slow, as painful as he possibly could; Aubrey didn't know whether to be empathetic or vengeful that he wanted retribution. In her state of dizziness, with no oxygen at all traveling into her lungs, it was difficult to tell the difference anymore.

Closing her eyes, she started praying to the only person she could think of: _Help... Please—_

And then the pressure on her neck was gone, the heavy weight on her stomach completely lifted.

She took a sharp intake of air, and it coarsely raked against her throat, entering her lungs in large amounts. She gasped as even more warmth flooded up into her chest; still gasping, even choking on the breaths she was drawing, and with much difficulty, she glanced down and vaguely watched the jagged cut on her chest start to heal.

"Greg…" she rasped. To the best of her memory, he was being confronted by two demons. With only a pistol to face off against, the odds weren't in his favor—even considering that said pistol had salt rounds. Aubrey's vision was still dull, and her heart was rapidly pounding in her chest like a sledgehammer, but she made an effort to pull herself up into a sitting position. To her surprise, it was painful to; nevertheless she got it done. That was when she noticed the body of the man… the _demon_ who had been trying to kill her, lying by her feet, his eyes open but unseeing. Aubrey heard the jarring yells of what seemed to be two people, accompanied by a loud tearing sound, before there were identical thumps on the floor.

Aubrey raised her head, coughing, to find five demons all in all—including Greg's assailants—lying on the floor, either dead or smited. Greg was kneeling between two bodies, seemingly battered and his face splattered with blood (whether it was his or someone else's, Aubrey didn't know), but otherwise no worse for wear. What really caught her attention was the man standing beside him, one of his hands deep in the pocket of his trench coat and the other on Greg's shoulder.

Greg suddenly gasped, and Castiel said, "You'll be alright, now." Greg looked at him with what appeared to be both fear and thankfulness. He shakily rose to his feet, noticed Aubrey sitting there, watching them, and rushed to her immediately.

"I'm okay," said Aubrey, still coughing slightly, but he helped her up anyway. She did not look at him, instead keeping her eyes solely on the angel at the other side of the room. "You should stay inside the safe room with Lorraine and Aiden. I'll check the house to see if there are any more," she softly told Greg. Past the apparent shock and fear, he stared at her with an appalled expression, and she met his eyes defiantly; she didn't want to argue with him now. "It's fine, now go to the safe room," she said. When he still didn't budge, impatience flashed across her eyes and she repeated: "Go to the safe room."

It was a long moment before he finally caved in, giving her arm a final squeeze before turning around and walking through the open, iron doors of the safe room. Lorraine welcomed him in with a hug, exhaling loudly in relief, and quickly followed Aiden. He was sobbing, tear tracks staining his face. His clothes were spattered with blood, most likely from while he was beside Aubrey and she had shot two demons in the face. Guilt washed over her and she hurriedly went to close the iron doors, after making sure that the three of them were the only ones in the safe room.

Then she faced Castiel, and it was all she could do not to start yelling at him again.

"You helped me… again," she muttered, staring at him.

"I heard your prayer, and I came," he said. "It was never my intention for you to get hurt… or the boy and his family."

She didn't even need to think of something to say; as much as she didn't want it to, everything was pouring out again, though in a much milder manner. "You can't keep doing this, Cas," she said.

He frowned in what she presumed was genuine confusion. "Doing what?"

"Leaving me high and dry and then just popping back in again to save the day! Like my own personal…" She trailed off and gestured to his figure in defeat, finishing in a quiet voice: "Like my own personal Superman."

Recognition flashed across his face and he took a single step forward. "I haven't gone to the… _Dark side_, Aubrey," he insisted softly. There was a long minute with neither of them saying anything, and then he asked, "What would you have me do?"

"Stop," she immediately replied. "Stop working with Crowley; stop looking for Purgatory."

He sighed. "You know I can't—"

"Can't or won't?"

"I _can't_." His gaze hardened. "This is the only way, Aubrey. Without the souls, I don't stand a chance against Raphael. Some of my followers have already abandoned me, and I don't have much longer until all of them do. You have to understand: if Raphael wins—"

"We'll find another way!"

"There is no other way. I can't let Raphael win. If he does…" His eyes glazed over, and Aubrey froze at the sight of him looking like that. So… desperate. "I'm doing this to protect everyone," he said, and when she shook her head and tried to turn away, he took a step forward and pressed on, "No, please, I need you to listen. If Raphael wins, it's going to be Armageddon all over again. This time, there will be no stopping it. The planet will die. _Everyone_ will die: Dean, Sam, Bobby, Aiden—" He seemed to choke on his own words. "_You_." He shook his head. "I can't… I _won't_ let that happen."

Aubrey wanted to say that she was grateful—and some part of her knew that she was—but more than anything, she was afraid for him; sympathetic, even. To have to go through such extents, do such things, to protect the people he loved. She, as well as Sam and Dean and Bobby, knew what that meant, and not everyone had the right to say that they had done _everything_. But what Castiel was doing… it was either very selfless, or very stupid. Aubrey didn't know what to think: what if she stopped him from finding Purgatory? What would they do to stop Raphael, an archangel? Simple holy oil wasn't going to stop him, only make him all the more driven… what could they do?

She searched Castiel's face for any sign of a lie, the tall tale, the white lie—anything that meant he was talking to her out of pride and greed, and there was none. Her heart threatened to reach out toward him but she reeled it back in just in time. Conflicted, she crossed her arms; "I'll do my best to let you off easy, no grudges," she said, "Provided you do a few things for me first."

Castiel stepped forward and said, "Anything," with no hesitation at all. After all, it was Aubrey's turn to be reluctant.

She glanced over to the iron doors leading into Bobby's safe room; the most recent events flashed in her mind, memories. There was telling Greg to get a gun, telling him to use it (in front of his child, no less), and telling Aiden that it was no longer a game, only seconds before shooting two men in the face in point blank range. Aiden had undoubtedly watched everything; one demon had even grabbed him, perhaps tried to kill him, and he would have if Aubrey hadn't stopped the demon in time.

And what about Greg and Lorraine? They had been put in danger just as much as Aiden had been, Lorraine mostly, for she only had a kitchen knife to protect herself and her kid… Aubrey decided that it was so close—_too_ close. She thought that if she stole the three of them away, hidden them in Bobby's house without Crowley knowing, and branded Enochian sigils in their ribs that they would be safe, but she was so wrong. What was she thinking? Crowley wasn't stupid; where else would she have brought them?

There were, however, a hundred other places… places Crowley would never have expected, places Aubrey was just too dependent to mention to Greg (she didn't want to separate from them)… but a request Aubrey, now, was sure she had to ask for.

"Bring them to the United Kingdom," she said, whispering past the lump in her throat. "London, UK. Hide them there, make sure that they have the perfect stories, timelines, family roots, why and how they got there. New names, new everything."

Castiel looked taken aback as he slowly said, "They will remember everything that happened here—"

"They won't." Aubrey shook her head. "I want you to erase their memories too." As soon as she said it, an imagined pain erupted from her stomach; her mouth felt dry. "They won't remember Aiden getting hit by a car, or anything that happened after that. They won't remember meeting me, or Bobby, or Dean, or Sam. Cas, you have to promise me: they won't remember a _thing_."

He looked at her with searching eyes. "Are you sure this is what you want?" Not trusting her own voice, she only nodded once. "… Then, I promise."

He turned and started towards the safe-room door, but Aubrey stopped him: "Wait." The angel halted in his tracks and slowly turned back around to face her. "There's one more thing," she said, gulping back the lump in her throat. He scrunched up his face in a questioning look and she motioned for him to come closer.

"Come here," she voiced out, which was when the indecision was clear in her voice. Castiel stared at her for a moment, looking quite reluctant himself before doing as she asked.

Once he was standing only a foot away, Aubrey flashed back to that night-out she once had with the boys. It was after their case with The Trickster Gabriel, back when Aubrey still had her Power encased in a glass vial; she would never have imagined that one tiny thing could put her in so much danger. That night, she, Castiel and the boys had gone to the bar to play Never Have I Ever, gone to a brothel (where the angel, in the cleanest sense of the word, got screwed), and ultimately, went stargazing in one of the isolated clearings in the city. Aubrey had walked away to find space for herself, perhaps gain some closure within her thoughts, but Castiel had approached her anyway. And that was the first time they kissed.

Everything seemed so simple, then; their situations were much simpler, and their decisions, only a bit clearer.

Now, standing in front of the angel, only one feeling coursed through Aubrey, and it was the first time in days that she had felt so sure. During that brief moment, she was sure of what she wanted to do. And because she was sure, she acted on that one impulse.

She, taking one step forward, closed the small space between them, cupped Castiel's face, and kissed him.

In some ways, it might have been desperate, for all she wanted to feel was his lips on hers. She wanted to remember what it had felt like that first time, and just as expected, it felt exactly the same: every other thought, every other problem, seemed to fade from existence. It was just her and him, locked in what she felt was pure bliss. When she pulled away, she found he was staring at her; she couldn't help but wonder whether his eyes had been open throughout the entire kiss. Didn't he enjoy it as much as she did? Had he wanted her to do it? Perhaps she was mistaken; perhaps he didn't feel the same way he did a year ago.

A shadow crossed his face. His eyebrows furrowed, his lips pressed into a thin line, and his hands, which were splayed lightly around Aubrey's hips, tightened slightly. Aubrey made a move to back away, an apology already bordering on her lips when he reeled her back in and placed his mouth over hers, and she was lost to him again.

She melted into his arms, and sighed lightly when she felt his tongue scrape against her lip; she didn't stop him. His breathing came quickly and in pants, the air from it spreading over her face, coating her in warmth. Aubrey closed her eyes tight, relishing the moment as he started gently pushing her backwards, stopping when her back hit the wall.

He kept her there, winding his arms beneath her arms and splaying them across her back like vices; it was the first time Aubrey had experienced him so willing to touch her. She enjoyed it. He pulled her ever closer, molding her against him and it seemed that he was never going to let go. A small smile appeared on Aubrey's lips as one of his hands travelled down her leg and pulled it up to wrap around his waist. She wrapped her arms around the back of his neck and hopped up, draping her other leg around his waist and softly digging the heels of her feet into the small of his back, getting them impossibly closer together.

A content sigh escaped Castiel, and Aubrey opened her eyes for a moment, watching him. His head tilted upwards to keep his lips firmly planted onto hers, his eyes scrunched closed with a heated look on his face. Behind her, his hands had stopped raking her back and were then gripping the bottom of her thighs, occasionally stroking. She closed her eyes again and completely gave in.

She unwound her arms from his neck, deciding that her legs around his waist and her back pressed against the wall was leverage enough, and instead let them settle on his chest. Her hands roamed there for a long moment; at the back of her mind, she wanted to slip his trench coat off, but decided that perhaps the angel did not want to go as far as that just yet. Remaining assertive, Aubrey let her hands travel past the sides of his chest and to his back. She ached to have him even closer, if that was still possible, and so she pushed lightly—the same moment Castiel decided to give her thighs a little tug, but that her waist followed, and the center of her thighs scraped against his lower abdomen.

A low groan escaped his throat, washing over Aubrey's face, and it was only seconds after that he stopped kissing her. By that time, they were both breathless, but otherwise remained flush against each other: Aubrey's legs kept wrapped around his waist, his hands stayed gripping her thighs, and their heads remained close together. Aubrey looked at his face, memorizing the way his lips were still slightly open and his eyes wouldn't leave her mouth.

All seemed clear, now; everything she had ever felt for the angel came to a conclusion. At the back of her head, she was still upset with him, knowing he was still going to go back to Crowley. But at that time she knew nothing else but one thing.

"Cas," she quietly said, leaning closer so that her forehead touched his. His expression changed in one single brief moment that Aubrey did not catch, and it was too late. "I love y—"

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She awoke to a copper-toned woman shaking her shoulder.

"Jules, come on," said the woman, and the accent was unmistakable in her voice. "Alan's opened up shop. And there's about a dozen people already seated. It's kind of our job to _not_ make them wait, you know?" When she said nothing, the woman shook her again. "Get off your arse and let's go!"

* * *

**All I'm gonna say is that there's gonna be one more chapter after this - in which I am going to fix EVERYTHING. What comes after that is a total mystery, even to me. (I haven't even started writing anything afterwards, so...)**

**It's all just a permanent ellipsis for now.**


	48. Epilogue - Talk Me Down

**Long chapter that is my poor ass attempt at tying up all the loose ends. x'D**

* * *

Castiel watched Benny, who sat on a rock a few ways away from him and Dean, who was on the ground, leaning on the trunks of trees and resting. Castiel did not trust the Purgatory-native; he might have saved him once, and that may have affected his feelings about him greatly, but trusting a monster was not something Castiel was going to learn to do overnight. Perhaps in a day or two… or a week… or a month…

It was difficult to judge how much time was passing. As far as any of them knew, an hour could have passed in Purgatory and it equaled to a day in the living world. The thought disturbed Castiel greatly.

Beside him, Dean elicited an audible scoff, and both Castiel and Benny turned upon hearing the sound.

Dean held in his hand what seemed to be a wallet. He turned it upside down and shook it, letting its contents fall to the ground. There was not a lot in it: a few coins, some credits cards, and several pictures. There were no bills, to Castiel's grim amusement.

"Fat lot of good those are gonna do you," said Benny, chortling lightly.

"You think I should keep it?" said Dean. "The wallet, I mean."

Benny shrugged. "Probably. Don't want the monsters here finding out we've been here. They've been on our asses since day one."

Dean grunted and started shoving the contents back into the wallet. He picked up a picture of Sam and kept it out for a while longer, staring down at it. Soon, Benny approached and asked who it was.

"My brother," answered Dean. "He's probably out there right now looking for a way to get me out of this hellhole."

"You better hope he doesn't get himself in here by trying, too."

A frown eased its way onto Dean's face and he waved Benny away. Benny clasped his shoulder before returning to his position sitting on the rock seven feet away. As Dean was slipping Sam's picture into his wallet, Castiel noticed a faint glow coming from the pile of photos. It had been so long since he had seen so much as the color yellow or orange, that it sparked something within him. He dug around the pile for a few seconds, before pulling out a photo of Aubrey.

Seeing her face after so long—after what he had done—saddened him, made him rejoice, and shamed him all at once, if that was even possible.

The photo had been taken at a beach. The sunlight caught on Aubrey's hair and turned it a beautiful shade of gold. She posed with Sam, having an arm wrapped around his bare shoulders and head tilted close to his chest. She had her face scrunched up and Sam poked his tongue through his lips. They looked so happy. Castiel presumed that it had been Dean who took the picture.

He tried to ignore the fact that she was almost completely naked in the shot, save for what people called a "bikini top" that covered her chest and looped around the back of her neck. Slowly, it became a more difficult task, until such a time came that the churning in his stomach became so hard to ignore, he practically tossed the photo to Dean, who snatched it out of the air.

Dean looked down at the photo and his face brightened immediately. He laughed, and it might have been the first time anyone had _ever_ uttered such a cheerful sound in Purgatory.

"I remember this," he said, flipping the photo over to reveal a small text at the back. "Yeah, we took this photo at Carlsbad a few years back. God, I miss her." Then he sighed, and the sadness returned to his face. He looked up at Castiel and looked at him with slightly narrowed eyes. "Are you sure you put her somewhere safe?"

"She and Aiden could not be safer," Castiel replied easily. "But I would prefer not to tell you her location here, under such… unfortunate circumstances." The hunter grunted in reply, and Castiel frowned. "She will be angry with me if I ever return her memories."

"_When_ you return her memories," corrected Dean. "And yeah, she'll be pretty pissed." He scoffed. "Hell, she might even kill you."

"I think so too." Castiel's eyebrows furrowed together and he said nothing more.

The clearing they were in was then enveloped in a companionable silence. Benny showed no signs of hearing their conversation, but Castiel was more than sure that he had been listening in. The angel was forced to presume that Dean had fallen asleep, and was just closing his eyes when Dean's voice reached his ears.

"She loves you, you know," he said. Surprised, Castiel turned to find the hunter looking ahead of them; his eyes seemed to be staring at something very, very far away, as if looking into the future. He continued, "I get that you've done some pretty bad shit, but I don't think she could ever hate you. And considering that… I don't think you deserve her." After a moment, he added, "None of us do."

Though it would have hurt him in any other situation, Dean's words sent an odd feeling of serenity through Castiel's bones.

It was true: no one deserved to have such a wonderful being such as Aubrey, except perhaps for another Phoenix. If that were to happen, then they could live their years as equals. But the only Phoenix left was Aiden, and Castiel very much doubted that Aubrey would settle for a child. _"Could she, then, for an angel?"_ he asked himself, and then discarded the thought from his mind.

However, he could not help but to remember what had happened the last time he had seen the girl: she kissed him, and he kissed her back—albeit much more heatedly than she. In his millennia on earth and in heaven, he had never felt such peace, such happiness, and, in the same way, such longing. Longing for the girl he had come to admire and adore; longing he felt when he was elsewhere, apart from her, but similarly when they were together as well; longing that could only be tamed by touching her, or kissing her, in the most intimate of ways. He had not known that angels could have such strong feelings for any being other than their own, for love and lust was all but alien to them, but it seemed that his time with the Winchesters had changed him.

For a moment, it frightened him. That perhaps his new emotions for Aubrey would result in him becoming an outcast to heaven. But then he remembered where he was, and that fear would only attract hordes of monsters to their location. He forced himself to forget about his musings and focus on the moment at hand.

Dean spoke: "Returning her memories… do you think that would make her life better or worse?"

Castiel was a bit surprised that he had returned to their previous topic, but did not argue.

"Neither," he replied earnestly. "If she is to return to hunting, more monsters will see her for what she is within short spans of time. At least then, she would know why they are after her and how she can defend herself. Yet if she were to remain where she is, completely devoid of knowing what she is, she has no means to defend herself if ever a monster were to come walking past. The extra protection on her and Aiden would only delay the inevitable."

"We'll get her back, then." It sounded like a question more than a statement.

Castiel nodded. "We'll get her back."

Dean was quiet for a moment, and then he stretched his arm out to the angel. "Here," he said. "You should have this." Castiel looked down and found another photo in his hand. It depicted the same scenery, and it was still of Aubrey, but Sam was nowhere in the shot. She was smiling—a broad, flashing grin—that had Castiel's stomach in knots.

He glanced up and asked, "You're sure?"

Dean shrugged. "I have enough pictures of her for myself and Sam. You don't have any."

Grateful, Castiel took the photo and stared down at Aubrey's face. As Dean reverted back to leaning against the tree, Castiel tucked the photo into his coat's pocket. He leaned back but found that he did not need to rest anymore. His will had been restored, and he swore to himself that he would see Aubrey again, in the flesh… yet the thought of the portal being human-friendly troubled him.

He looked at Dean, who had dozed off._ I will return to her, yes,_ he mused grimly, _but I will see _him_ returned first._

* * *

"You're sure this is the right place?" asked Dean from across the table. Sighing, Castiel fixed him a half-hearted glare, to which the hunter responded by rolling his eyes and pursing his lips, but otherwise looking away. He grumbled, "Fine."

Sam shifted beside him and then took up the menu. "Well, it took us almost eight hours to get here, and I'm starving. Dean, what do you want?"

For a while, Dean was content with just looking around the restaurant with crossed arms. He was pouting, which Castiel had found was a sign of him being upset. Eventually, however, his eyes flickered down to the menu in his brother's hands and he nodded, saying, "That burger looks pretty good."

"You want some fries with that?"

He only grunted in reply.

Sam looked to Castiel. "How about you, Cas? You want anything?"

"Just water," the angel replied. Now it was his turn to glance around the restaurant.

The place was packed, bustling with activity. Placed by the walls were booths with dark blue cushions. Sam, Dean, and Castiel sat in one of these at the left side of the restaurant, beside the floor-to-ceiling windows. Outside, they could see cars drone by lazily, the pavement illuminated by streetlamps far above them. At the far right of the restaurant was a black stage, similar to the color of the smooth, shiny floor. A band was set up on the platform, and they languidly played their instruments, creating ideal background music for the atmosphere of the lively restaurant.

As a waitress hurried past, not being able to stop at their table for she had already written down an order, Castiel eyed the markings on the bright burgundy walls; signatures, he came to realize. They seemed to glimmer beneath the dim, colored lighting of the restaurant.

Sam wrapped his arms around himself even though it was considerably warm. Castiel caught Dean throw his brother a concerned look before the sound of a child's laughter cut through the dull noise of the restaurant. At first, he did not raise his head to acknowledge the sound, thinking that it was normal in such a place, but then Dean swatted at him from across the table and nodded at something behind him, wide-eyed.

Curious, Castiel glanced over his shoulder and frowned at what he saw.

A family of three sat two booths away from them. The father, with dark hair and kind eyes, wiped a smear of chocolate off his son's cheek. The mother watched with a smile on her face, her hand on the boy's head.

Castiel's eyes narrowed. Over the course of a year, Aiden had grown considerably taller, and his face had matured, but Castiel could see that he was still a child by human standards. He looked away before arousing suspicion from Greg or Lorraine, but he once again heard the high chortle of the boy, making him frown.

"You put them in the same damn city?" Dean hissed.

"They aren't supposed to be here," doubtfully said Castiel. "I hid them several miles farther from here. If they came here, it must have been for the fame of the restaurant, not because of Aubrey."

"Fate works in mysterious ways," said Sam.

Dean shook his head. "Yeah, she's also a bitch, last time I checked." Sam grunted in agreement but said no more.

The light tinkling of a bell caught Castiel's attention. His ears perked up; he did not look behind him, for he already knew that the tinkling had been caused by the front door being opened. In front of him, Sam and Dean stilled and seemed to stop breathing all together. From the counter at the front of the room, a woman hollered over the noise of the restaurant, "You're _so_ late!"

"I'm sorry!" was the reply, and Castiel froze at the familiar voice.

He whirled around and saw her standing there, garbed in her usual casual attire, with a coat dangling from her arm.

"She cut her hair?" Dean quietly exclaimed. For a moment, Castiel was afraid that Aubrey had heard, but she only closed the door behind her and strode across the room to the counter, where a woman with copper skin met her. Still astonished, Castiel was barely able to remember that he could use his heightened senses to hear what they were saying.

Pursing his lips in concentration, he listened in.

"_Christ_, Jules," said the unfamiliar woman. "Alan's going to have your head."

Aubrey scoffed. "Come on, Skye. I'm his most valuable waitress." From the corner of his eye, Castiel watched as she slipped a golden orange apron over her head and then pinned something onto her chest. "And I have a performance next weekend. He couldn't possibly kill me."

"He could hire someone."

"That's… true."

"Stop talking to me and start waiting tables." 'Skye' nodded to the initial direction of Castiel, making him hold his breath. "Some cute guys came in a few minutes ago, haven't ordered yet."

Aubrey grinned. "Aw, did you save them for me?"

Skye then gave her a hard push, and Aubrey stumbled away, laughing. Her peals of amusement sent an odd sensation through Castiel's body. He retreated back into himself, pulling away from the lure of his hearing, and looked evenly at Sam and Dean.

"She's coming to take our orders," he told them. "Act natural."

The older Winchester scowled. "What? Why?"

Castiel gave him an expectant look, which he returned with a glare, but otherwise did not argue further. Sam proceeded to place his elbow onto the table and lean against his hand, somewhat awkwardly. Dean straightened up on his seat and cradled his jaw in his hand, already staring at Aubrey, who was nearing them. Castiel remained as he was.

By that time, Aubrey was standing beside their table with a wide smile on her face, holding a notepad and a pen in her hands. On her chest, there was a rectangular pin that read 'Jules'.

"Hi, I'm Juliet, your waitress for this evening, but you can call me Jules." She tapped the pin. "What can I get you today, boys?"

For a few seconds, it was just them staring at her with mouths agape. She raised an eyebrow and looked to Castiel, seemingly for an answer, but he could provide none. He only looked away. She cleared her throat. "Uh…"

"Sorry, sorry," said Sam, shaking his head slightly. "Could we have, uh… the double cheeseburger?"

Aubrey tilted her head slightly. "Americans… Did you come here for vacation?" She scribbled something onto the notepad.

"Yeah, you could say that." Dean laughed.

"Beef or chicken patty?"

Sam looked to Dean, who offered a shrug. "Is there a way to get both?"

Aubrey grinned. "Extra pay."

"That's fine. And then, uh… two beers and a glass of water for Cas here." His gaze turned expectant, perhaps thinking that Castiel's name would spark a memory or two within her brain. But Castiel had made sure that the second wall he placed within her mind was strong. She only nodded and smiled.

"Cas…" she mused. "Cool name."

Castiel, not knowing what else to say, ducked his head and muttered, "Thank you."

His statement was met with a laugh. "Alright, is that all?"

"Could you put some fries in there too?" said Sam.

"Right…" The tip of her pen flew across the pad and then she smiled at them. "Five minutes, 'kay?"

"Gotcha."

They watched as Aubrey turned around and walked back to the counter, where she knocked on a metal grate on the wall. The grate opened up to reveal a dark-skinned man in chef's clothes. She handed the order to him and the grate closed again. She walked back out from behind the counter and was looking to be taking more orders from the table behind the hunters, when suddenly Castiel noticed Aiden jump out from his seat. Greg and Lorraine walked to the front door, and as Aiden was passing by, Aubrey reached out and ruffled the boy's hair. Aiden complained loudly, but sounded amused, and poked his tongue out at Aubrey before following his parents out of the restaurant.

Oddly nervous, Castiel turned back around to face the looks of exasperation on Sam's and Dean's faces.

"You screwed up," said Dean, and he could not help but to agree. He only hoped that Aiden was not a regular, otherwise, his scent combined with Aubrey's would surely bring monsters hounding to the doors.

"Okay, how exactly are you gonna do this again?" said Sam, placing his forearms on the table and leaning forward. "Just give her memories back so she can completely uproot her life here—like that's _normal_?"

Castiel frowned. "Well… that was what I was planning." Dean threw his hands up in exasperation and Sam pursed his lips, making the angel scowl in frustration. "What would you have me do then? Explain to everyone she knows that 'Jules' was never a real person?"

"I want you to fix your friggin' mistake," Dean retorted sharply.

"How?"

"Figure it out!"

The angel glared at him for a long while, not being able to find the right words, only because perhaps there was no more to say. Dean was right; he had to fix his mistake. But Castiel, for all he knew, could not think of a decent solution for smoothly pulling Aubrey out of London. He really did want her back, though, and so he retreated into a thoughtful silence.

As he was deep in thought, Aubrey came by with a tray and placed two beer bottles on the table, along with two stout glasses with cubes of ice and a separate, taller glass filled with ice water. She smiled briefly before walking away again.

Castiel found himself staring after her with a small smile on his face. He was not brought back to himself until Dean gave his shoulder a rough swipe, to which he looked at him in question. "Fix it," was all he said.

Five minutes, right on the dot, Aubrey returned to their table with Dean's double cheeseburger and a plate of French fries. She placed a red bottle that read "Ketchup" at the front, and then said, "Holler if you need anything else, yeah?" Sam nodded. She turned but, before she even took a single step forward, she glanced over her shoulder and at Castiel.

With a hint of a smirk, she winked before resuming on her brisk pace to another table. Castiel's eyes widened and he tried to blink away his surprise yet found it almost impossible.

From across the table, Dean scoffed and took a large bite out of his burger. Through a mouthful of food, he said, "Same old Aubrey… except for that accent."

"Yeah, the accent's new," Sam agreed.

"Friggin' distracting."

Castiel frowned and turned his head, watching Aubrey chat with Skye. He noticed that their eyes would often flicker to him, and once, to Dean, before they began laughing quietly.

"Don't stare," Dean suddenly said.

"Why?"

His gaze turned steely. "Just don't, alright?"

"I've come up with a plan, if that helps." Dean gestured to Castiel with his half-eaten burger and nodded. The angel continued, "We could stay here for another week or two and become 'regulars' as you would call it. Then Aubrey wouldn't find it at all weird if we start asking about her life. If she's gained many new friends, then we will help undermine their connections. If not… we could always make up a story." Upon seeing the doubtful expressions on their faces, he sighed. "I know that it is a rather crude solution, but it will be necessary if we are to get Aubrey back. You do want her back, right?"

Sam leaned back in his chair and said, "We might as well book a cheap hotel, then—come back here tomorrow for dinner?"

Dean grunted in reply but said nothing.

* * *

The hotel they booked was cheap enough, considering the difference in currency. They were barely able to pay the price for staying a week.

Nevertheless, they always made sure to return to the restaurant Aubrey was working in—"The Vertigo Lounge"—for dinner every night. Dean always had burger and a beer, whereas Sam sometimes had the same, but sometimes he had pasta, or salad, or something else. But the beers never left, and Castiel never ordered more than a glass of water. Despite this, Aubrey always brought to their table a large bowl of bread, giving Castiel an expectant look.

He made sure to be nibbling on one of the loaves whenever she looked over at them or passed them by.

After the first week there, plus a few more days after that, Aubrey started saying to Dean and Castiel whenever she was going to take their order, "Usual?" and Dean would always nod his head. She did not do the same for Sam, however, for his orders varied, but they soon understood that she was warming up to them.

Whenever they could, and as casually as they could, they would ask her things about her personal life—if she had any siblings, how long she had been working as a waitress, who her friends were—even though they already knew the answers to most. And it was through this strategy that they found just how intricate Castiel's spell had been.

When he had first sent her and Aiden's family to London, he had already weaved lies of their existence into the minds of everyone he was sure they were going to meet; for Aubrey, her co-workers in the restaurant; for Aiden, Greg and Lorraine, their landlord and Greg's boss.

After a night of pondering on it, Castiel came to the conclusion that the spell could easily be erased, but that he could again place it onto the strangers who had come to know Aubrey as their waitress so that they would not ask for her.

Castiel confronted Dean about this and explained to him the situation. In the end, a roguish smile made its way onto Dean's face and he said, "Can you do it tomorrow?"

"Yes."

"Then tomorrow it is. I think I've had enough of England anyway."

Yet somehow, Castiel was able to convince them that it would be best if the spell was done at nighttime, when the restaurant was most packed.

It was a Saturday night, and Castiel's prediction had been right. They were barely able to make their way to their usual booth without bumping into any burly men. Dean plopped down onto the cushion first, and then Sam, and finally Castiel, who patiently slipped into the booth.

"Good idea, Cas," said Dean, and he sounded genuine.

Castiel nodded in acknowledgement before turning his head and scanning the restaurant for Aubrey. He spotted her on the stage across the room, sitting on a stool with a guitar positioned on her lap and a microphone stand in front of her. She did not have her waitress' apron on and was wearing dark grey jeans and a dull red blouse. Sam and Dean followed his gaze and frowned in confusion.

The older of the two muttered, "What the hell?"

Aubrey tapped the microphone, catching the attention of the rest of the people in the diner, who all turned to catch a glimpse of her. She smiled cheekily.

"Assuming you all saw the sign outside; it's a Saturday, meaning vocals night. So we weren't able to call up any popular bands and such, but lucky for you guys, I'm actually a wonderful singer." There was a faint cacophony of catcalls and cheers from the diners, which made her chuckle. "Anyway, without further ado, sit back, relax, finish your dinner, and enjoy the music."

And as several of the diners looked away to return to their food, Castiel did not look away from her.

She began strumming the guitar, and after only a few notes, she was singing.

"_Now that he's back in the atmosphere, with drops of Jupiter in his hair, he acts like summer and walks like rain, reminds me that there's time to change…_"

Several cries broke out from the diners in recognition of the song, and she acknowledged them with a serene smile.

"_Since the return from his stay on the moon, he listens like spring and he talks like June… Tell me, did you sail across the sun? Did you make it to the Milky Way to see the lights all faded, and that heaven is overrated?_"

Across the table, Sam and Dean shared a light laugh.

"_Tell me, did you fall for a shooting star—one without a permanent scar? And did you miss me while you were looking for yourself out there?_"

Castiel pursed his lips.

"_Now that he's back from that soul vacation, tracing his way through the constellation, he checks out Mozart while he does Tae-Bo, reminds me that there's room to grow… Now that he's back in the atmosphere, I'm afraid that he might think of me as 'Plain Old Jane told a story about a man who was too afraid to fly so he never did land'. So tell me, did Venus blow your mind? Was it everything you wanted to find? And did you miss me while you were looking for yourself out there?_"

He began to doubt the strength of his spell, for it seemed that she could remember everything that had happened, considering her song choice, but not once did she look to him with the familiar knowing glint in her eye.

"_Can you imagine no love, pride, deep-fried chicken, your best friend always sticking up for you—even when I know you're wrong? Can you imagine no first dance, freeze-dried romance, five-hour phone conversation, the best soy latte that you ever had, and me?_"

It was a long, continuous part from the song, complete with both low and high notes. Someone cheered in approval from Aubrey's right side, and she gave the man a sideways glance, smiling widely.

Her voice dropped and her strumming of the guitar became slower, gentler, as she continued in a softer tone: "_But tell me, did the wind sweep you off your feet? Did you finally get the chance to dance along the light of day and head back to the Milky Way? Tell me, did you sail across the sun? Did you make it to the Milky Way to see the lights all faded, and that heaven is overrated? Tell me, did you fall for a shooting star—one without a permanent scar? And did you miss me while you were looking for yourself? Na, na, na, na…_"

Several diners sang along cheerfully, swaying to the music. Aubrey grinned but the song had to end eventually, and it did with the most transparent lyric Castiel ever heard so far: "_And are you lonely, looking for yourself out there?_"

* * *

Then very subtly, the strumming pattern on the guitar changed, becoming a different song altogether—slower, and seemingly more melancholic.

Aubrey closed her eyes as she sang the first strains of the song, "_Honey, why're you calling me so late? It's kind of hard to talk right now… Honey, why're you crying? Is everything okay? I have to whisper 'cause I can't be too loud._"

Dean nearly spat out his beer. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, cursing under his breath. Castiel looked at him questioningly, and Sam hissed, "I thought you erased her memories!"

Castiel frowned. "I did."

"Then why the hell is she singing _this_?"

"Am I supposed to know this song?"

Glowering, Sam retreated into a grudging silence as Aubrey's voice cut into their atmosphere once more. Her strumming increased in intensity.

"_Well, my man's in the next room. Sometimes, I wish he was you. I guess we never really moved on. It's really good to hear your voice saying my name. It sounds so sweet coming from the lips of an angel. Hearing those words, it makes me weak…_ _And I never want to say goodbye, but, boy, you make it hard to be faithful_"—she stopped strumming, and the echo of it accompanied her voice—"_with the lips of an angel._"

Castiel froze. More catcalls erupted from the diners, but they were silenced as soon as she began singing again.

"_It's funny that you're calling me tonight… And yes, I've dreamt of you too. If Skylar was singing with me, it'd be bad. Yes I'm pretty sure she sounds like a pig._" Aubrey chuckled as Skye came bounding up to her from the counter to swat the back of her head. Laughter burst forth from the audience, and they clapped as Aubrey stood up, but otherwise kept the guitar with her and continued the song in the proper way.

"_Well, my man's in the next room. Sometimes I wish he was you. I guess we never really moved on._"

She tilted her head and looked at the side while she sang, scanning the crowd with her eyes. When she reached Dean, Sam and Castiel's table, her gaze lingered there. A smile played on her lips.

"_It's really good to hear your voice saying my name. It sounds so sweet coming from the lips of an angel. Hearing those words, it makes me weak…_ _And I never want to say goodbye, but, boy, you make it hard to be faithful with the lips of an angel._" This time, the intense strumming remained, and she looked away from Castiel to concentrate on the guitar. He never knew she could play.

"_It's really good to hear your voice saying my name. It sounds so sweet coming from the lips of angel. Hearing those words, it makes me weak._" Just as the power started draining out, it returned again twice fold. "_And I never want to say goodbye, but, boy, you make it hard to be faithful… so hard to be faithful…_" Her eyes screwed shut as she strained her voice.

Then her strumming stopped, and she opened them again, resting her gaze on Castiel. "_With the lips of an angel._"

As the final strains of the guitar ended, the diners applauded Aubrey's performance. For a while, she kept her gaze on Castiel, and her eyebrows furrowed together, as if in confusion… It was the same look she had whenever she was trying to remember something. He held his breath, and remained like this until she turned away.

She removed the guitar strap from her shoulders and positioned the guitar so that it leaned against the wall. "Last song of the night, folks," she said into the mic, removing it from the stand. Men suddenly began walking up onto the stage. Castiel started, thinking that they were going to attack Aubrey, but they did not, only merely took their places behind her and with their instruments. Without a word, they started up a song, complete with drums and everything.

"I do hope you enjoyed the performance tonight, no matter how mediocre it might have been." A man cheered from behind Sam, making him flinch. Aubrey smiled. "But for this final song, I need everyone's support here. Sing along if you know it, alright?"

It came to Castiel's attention that the band was playing the kind of song Dean would be blasting inside the Impala, what he called "rock" music. Castiel had never understood why the genre had been related to a stone, but decided long ago that he was better off not understanding many things.

Hopping off of the stage, Aubrey began singing: "_He's got a smile that it seems to me reminds me of childhood memories, where everything was as fresh as the bright blue sky._"

Dean put his burger down and perked up in recognition of the song, now facing Aubrey with newfound interest.

"_Now and then, when I see his face, he takes me away to that special place. And if I stared too long, I'd probably break down and cry._

"_Oh_," she sang, drawing out the word, and smiling widely when a good amount of the diners sang along with her. "_Sweet child of mine… Oh, sweet love of mine._" During the brief lapse of the lyrics, she danced along to the music, trotting up to one table and another and twirling one of the people there. Yet just as she was bringing the mic back up to her lips, she noticed Castiel there.

Now, Castiel was wholly aware of the color of his vessel's eyes. And it seemed Aubrey had taken note of this as well. "_He's got eyes of the bluest skies, as if they thought of rain._" As she sang, she strolled up to him and leaned down, shaking her head playfully. "_I'd hate to look into those eyes and see an ounce of pain._"

Then, she faced Sam and Dean. "_His hair reminds me of a warm, safe place where, as a child, I'd hide_"—she ruffled Sam's hair, eliciting a surprised "Woah" from Dean—"_and pray for the thunder and the rain to quietly pass me by. Oh, sweet child of mine… Oh, sweet love of mine._ Guitar solo!"

A man appeared behind her and tapped her shoulder. She turned just as he started whipping his head back and forth in a crude rhythm, timing it to the beat of the song. Dean laughed out loud, and Sam smiled, while Castiel watched on in confusion. Aubrey mimicked the movements of the stranger and soon they were in sync with one another.

"Oh, sweet child of mine!" the audience sang in replacement of Aubrey. "Oh, sweet love of mine."

Aubrey tersely stopped bobbing her head and brought the mic to her lips. "_Oh, sweet child of mine. Oh, oh, oh, oh, sweet love of mine…_" She was still laughing when the band finally ended the song, and the diner erupted in applause and cheers. She turned and bowed to the majority of the restaurant, spreading an arm to the side. "Thank you, all! Have a good night!"

Castiel made a split second decision, before she could walk off and delay their plans again. He placed a hand on her shoulder and made her turn. Her eyes widened questioningly as she said, "Hey, what is it?" He moved his hand so that it was on her head and, concentrating, closed his eyes.

When he opened them again, he saw that her eyes had glazed over.

Sam and Dean shot to their feet, looking at her in concern. "Did you do it?" asked Dean. Castiel nodded once just as Aubrey blinked.

Her eyebrows furrowed together and she frowned at them. "Cas?" The confusion was clear on her face, and then, like a tidal wave, the rage settled in. In a split second, she had brought her fist up and punched him square in the jaw.

He recoiled, more from surprise than pain (though it still throbbed agonizingly.) Several people that were sat close by them turned, shocked, but the fire in Aubrey's eyes was not doused. Her hand wrapped around his forearm none too gently and she started dragging him to the front of the restaurant.

Not knowing what to do, Castiel glanced over his shoulder and at Sam and Dean, throwing them a pleading look. They had a brief exchange before slipping out of the booth and following after him and Aubrey, who were crossing the small hallway behind the counter and to a door.

Aubrey's relentless pace did not waver. They burst through the door and walked out into a dark, isolated alleyway. Sam and Dean followed through the door soon after, panting. Before Castiel was able to say anything, Aubrey pushed him against a wall and held him there with a firm hand, at arm's length. Her voice adopted a hard tone.

"I remember now," she said. "You don't have to explain _anything_. You _brainwashed_ me and took me here _without my consent_."

"You would never have approved," Castiel weakly argued. "It was the only way I could keep you safe from Crowley and the Leviathans, as well as Dick."

She frowned, then, and the pressure she was applying on his shoulder lessened. "If that's your version of a dirty joke, it's not funny."

Sam and Dean took the opportunity to jump into the conversation, quickly giving the details of every event that had happened during the last year and a half. Castiel saw Aubrey's face morph into one of both sadness and anger at how long she had been separated from them; though he did not fear for himself. What he had done was wrong, but he still was not going to apologize.

As the Winchesters recounted tales of the Leviathan and Dick Roman, Castiel stared into Aubrey's soul and found the burning flame within very much intact. And it was as beautiful as ever—with the form designed similarly to the layers of a real fire, and her wings shining exuberantly like rays from the sun—but it had dimmed slightly, most probably because she had not used any of her Powers for so long. Her Phoenix-self had remained dormant for the better part of two years.

Then it occurred to him: she still did not know anything about the things she could do, her Power; perhaps one or two small modules there, but not all. He made a mental note to speak to her all about it as soon as he could.

He watched as her soul flickered when Dean explained the details of Bobby's death, his coming-back, and his ultimate downfall; then again, when Sam told her of Dean falling into Purgatory with Castiel.

She expressed her grievances and took a short while to lament Bobby's passing, but then everything afterwards was short accounts of hunts; then finally, they told her how they found her and their plan on how to uproot her life in London.

Once they were finished, Aubrey said, "Thank you," and then faced Castiel. She looked him up and down with a scrutinizing gaze, making him uncomfortable. "You're still an angel."

"… Technically, no, I am a seraph now—a higher form of heavenly being."

"All the same," she replied. "Like I told you before, I'll do my best to let you off easy. No grudges. We succeeded in what we wanted to accomplish anyway, right?" Unsure, he nodded. "But now… what's gonna happen to Aiden?"

"They have sigils on their ribs, now, and Greg and Lorraine have an anti-possession blessing that I gave. I also placed a spell that would alert me if anything ever happens to them, be it an attack by a monster, demon, or angel. I will know."

Glumly, Aubrey acknowledged, "They'll stay here."

Castiel nodded. "Yes."

For a while, they were all quiet. Castiel did not mind. He relished in the fact that Aubrey's memories had been returned to her—that she again remembered what they shared—but he also could not help but to ponder what she would do. Did she still hold the same feelings she did two years ago? Or had that dissipated due to her anger with him?

It was Dean who finally broke the silence. "Alright, come on, let's get out of here. We can talk more on the way back to America." He nodded to Cas. "Do your angel mojo in there and let's go pack up at the hotel. I wanna be out of here by tomorrow."

He walked back into the restaurant, tugging Sam along with him. Castiel made a move to follow when he felt Aubrey squeeze his elbow. Suddenly, her warm breath was fanning his ear. She said, "I hope you haven't forgotten where we left off before, because I plan on continuing as soon as possible."

In recognition of her words, he froze. She pulled her head back and chuckled lightly, walking up the steps first. Before she strolled back into the restaurant, she threw a lighthearted smirk over her shoulder and at the angel.

As the door closed behind her, obscuring her from view, Castiel felt heat rush up to his ears and most likely across his face as well. Huffing, he trailed her through the doors, feeling the familiar pang of longing settle on his chest, which was worsened by the fact that he could do what he wanted with her now—and that she favored his ideas.

* * *

**Spitting Fire is over! Part of me is happy and part of me is sad.**

**One thing's for sure though: the ship will NOT sink! I'll put up a oneshot or two every now and again just for the fun of it, because hell will freeze over before I fall out of love with Cas HAHAHA**

**Thanks to everyone who stuck around! Have an awesome life (?) HAHAHA**

**Okay bye now**


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